The accidental handyman

Done reinstalling the hydraulic closer on our screen door that was damaged because I forgot to lock it the night Typhoon Mina was whipping us with gale force winds. It looked easy at first — just a couple of screws that needed to be jammed back to their places — but the damn task still tookΒ  three spins of Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction for me to finish. That, and curses. Lots of it.

My wife said: “Why don’t you just pick some bum off the street and let him do the work for P50?” Perhaps she didn’t realize it, but she might as well have asked me to cut my balls off and consider a career in fashion designing. It went straight to my ego, and my ego cried foul.

So I toiled over the task and literally sweated over it and got pissed several times and, at one point, had painfully admitted — to myself, mind you — that I’m not cut for this shit. But perseverance won, and it got me a happy ending.

If there’s one thing I learned from the porn movies of my youth, it’s that good things happen to a friendly neighborhood handyman.

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