It's My Dad's Fault....

Cindy was repainting the front door of our home when she asked me to bring her a piece of cardboard to use as a straightedge to help her in her painting of the corners. I was quite proud of my ability to engineer a solution: I got an old cereal box out of the trash. Using scisoors, I cut one side of the box off and presented it to her. Voila! Another satisfied customer!---NOT!!!

It seems I didn't cut the edges straight enough and my solution actually caused her paint lines to be wobbly. So she had to get down off the ladder she was on and come inside the house and find herself a straight piece of cardboard.

This incident got us both to thinking about what a KLUTZ I am when it comes to accomplishing almost anything around the house.

I am not allowed inside the house---or outside, for that matter---with paint, paintbrush, tools of any kind (the one thing I am good with is a hammer. If something needs fixin', and it can be done with a hammer, I'm your guy), etc.

My banishment from trying to fix things in the house was initiated a number of years ago when I was painting the interior of our home. I was dipping my paintbrush into the full can of paint and then applying it to the walls. The gallon can of paint was sitting on the carpeted floor. My wife told me I should put the paint I was going to use into a smaller container and remove the big gallon can from the carpet---she was afraid I was going to spill paint on the carpeting. I brushed her off. Well, you guessed it---I accidentally tripped on the paint can and flooded the carpet with Sherwin Williams' best latex. I was then told in no uncertain terms that I would not be painting any more in my lifetime.

Of course, I am equally inept at using screwdrivers, plyers, saws, etc..... After literally hundreds of disastrous attempts at repairing stuff in the home and car, I have been forbidden from even thinking about it. I guess my crowning ineptitudes in my home-wrecking career have been in the plumbing and electrical repair fields. I flooded a bathroom and two bedrooms a few years back when I couldn't find the cut-off valve. Someone later suggested that maybe I should've looked for that BEFORE I started to work. Hmmm. And, of course, there was the time I blew out the circuit box when I shorted some wiring. That can be non habit forming.

I blame all of this on my dad. He couldn't fix anything, either. Guess you could say it's a genetic thing.