Mr. Fix-It

A week ago, I told you that giving advice is not my forte. Fortunately, e-mails asking for help dealing with emotionally unavailable boyfriends or places to eat when visiting San Francisco aren’t exactly filling up my inbox, so it all just sort of works out.

But if dispensing advice makes me uncomfortable, then the need to exhibit any sort of general handiness around the house or with my car is the equivalent of really ripping one in an otherwise quiet conference room.

Don’t look so squeamish. We’ve all been there.

This has nothing to do with genetics; in fact, I’m terribly unhandy in spite of my dad’s ability to pass as Bob Vila if you squint hard enough. He drywalled our family room by himself, for crying out loud. I, on the other hand, own a house with walls, and I’m still not quite sure where they came from.

For some reason, my deficiencies in this regard come up rather frequently in conversation–maybe because, I don’t know, owning a house is kind of a pain in the ass, a fact no one bothers to tell you before you buy, leaving it to the chipmunk who figures out how to get in via your dryer vent to deliver the message. But people never really get the extent to which I suck at fixing stuff.

Actually, that’s probably not true; I think they have a pretty good idea. But it helps the story if I pretend they don’t.

So as I was saying, people don’t understand what I mean when I say I’m where handiness goes just to get away from it all. As of this morning, however, I have a visual aid:

That would be a shelf in one of our kitchen cabinets being held up by two full cans of Coke; I noticed today that the wood thingy that should be there was missing, and the whole shelf was drooping. The dog and I scoured the house for a good 10 minutes looking for something to prop it up, and we deemed this to be the best option.

My dad is going to throw up a little in his mouth when he reads this.

The funny thing is, these cans could very well be providing more support than the little piece of wood did in the first place. I have no idea. I do know one thing, though: I’m going to find out how long they’ll work.

Because it’s not like I’m going to actually try and fix it.

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