Honey, can you fix this?? (!!!!)

These few words can bring fear to the stoutest male heart.  The discussion continues with "it is really a simple thing, should only take a few minutes", at which point that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach takes hold.   You know that the rest of this day is now committed and this mission may, and probably will, carry over into tomorrow. 

Being handy at fixing things can be valuable talent, but you must remember to keep the full extent of your capabilities from your most frequent "customer", your wife or significant other.  It can be rewarding to bring that what-cha-ma-call-it back to life and see that expression of approval and appreciation on her face, something the frail-male ego desperately seeks.

Some men, so endowed with the fix-it gene, have had the good sense to keep this ability to themselves.  Some have even gone so far as to dumb down their repair efforts to the point of asking her "which end of the screwdriver do I hold".  Smart move, you will now officially be removed from her speed-dial, at least for repair projects.

And there are the kids, and especially the grandkids.  Something that will melt the heart of even an old bridge troll like me are the words "PaPa fix?" in that small, quivering voice of a child whose complex electronic toy that is no longer doing their bidding.

You take it in hand with confidence, only allowing your mind to consider the universal fix in such situations, the batteries.  Deep in your heart, you know that the technology of this talking, walking zombie space minion is far beyond what you can master with a pair of pliers and three pound sledge hammer.  You must, however, continue your efforts toward resuscitating this high tech toy, not wanting to disappoint your grandson or granddaugher.

I grew up fixing and building things, something, I am sure, must be genetic as all of the men in my family have been so blessed (or cursed).  I am one of those who actually finds fulfillment and, dare I say, pleasure, in repairing and building things for my family.  So the Sea Hawks are marching toward the Super Bowl, there was that chair, you know the one, the one with three legs,  that has been hibernating in the garage since, ahhh, just let me measure the depth of dust that has accumulated on it.  Hmmmm, its been that long, Hummmm.

Anyway, I have finished two "Honey-Do" projects, I just checked the clock and it is (Yeah!!) Oly-thirty, the universal start time for happy hour.  Sitting here, with my favorite beverage in my left hand (I am actually right-handed, but one misdirected hammer blow has temporarily rendered me a "lefty").

Tomorrow is another day
"The sun will come out, tomorrow"  (where the heck did that come from??)  Oh, yes, the beverage.
Tony