Over almost forty-five years of wedded bliss (work with me here), my Beloved and I have cultivated a symbiotic relationship. There are numerous facets to this symbiosis, one of which is (1) I break things, (2) I attempt to fix them and (3) he eventually follows up by fixing them correctly. Amid a multitude of missteps, this is a dance we’ve perfected through the years.
While he was still in graduate school, we repainted the house we were renting. Since he’d done house-painting full-time during summer breaks, he knew the tricks of the trade (unlike me). When repainting began, I offered to help. As a can-do person, I naturally believed I could assist … I mean, you have a paintbrush and some paint … you slip the brush into the bucket, drench the bristles and slap paint on the wall. It’s not rocket science, right?!
In short order, I was demoted from painting most surfaces and given the task to paint louvered doors. Ugh! Eventually, that task was taken from me as well. Ever since, I’ve been banned from wielding a paintbrush.
… But I’m the kid who assisted my daddy whenever he had a job around the house. Granted, I was mainly there to hold the flashlight or keep the ladder steady or fetch another tool from the basement workbench, but I was his assistant! My experience didn’t qualify me as an expert, but more practice was all I needed in order to attain weekend
handyman, er, handy-woman status (so I thought). Continue reading “Tale of the Two-Minute Job”