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Michelle Lovato: The tools of the trade

The Adventures of Garlic Man and Wedgie Woman

Posted: January 14, 2009 10:41 p.m.
Updated: January 15, 2009 4:30 a.m.
 

I see guy things - everywhere.

I keep opening drawers and finding guy junk: light bulbs, electrical tape, WD40 and canned air.

Canned air?

And why, Great Cowboy of the Heavens, doesn't he buy cleaners?

I can retrieve a cross-head screwdriver, a concrete drill bit, wood glue (which apparently has a different use than Super Glue), the pooper scooper - I'm very good at using that - and the old lamp he refused the throw away and is using for an outside light.

You would think all these newly learned tools would make for a successful marital trade. But I remember the day ...

A beautiful fountain of misty spray shot forth into the sunny azure sky, falling gracefully in its decent to the thirsty desert earth below. The fountain, which I now know as a water-main leak, was like a greeting card photo in its unrepressed glory.

Mr. I'll Get To It passed the prolific dazzle numerous times, each time spitting out a little curse word or two; each time promising himself he'd get to it right away.

And the leak sprayed forth for 40 days and 40 nights, creating massive rainclouds in the sky.

Now I am in no way suggesting that my dear Do-Everything Man was in anyway procrastinating, b-u-u-u-t ...

Time did pass rather rapidly, and I was personally quite entertained by the sun and water "making kissy" in my yard, until the day I received my water bill.

That was the day that the fantastic fountain beyond the front-yard fence fouled my fancy for it forever.

I suddenly realized that expensive sucker needed fixin' and I was just the cowgirl to do it.

My first challenge arrived with my entrance into the Man Zone that masquerades as our garage.

Organization is a four-letter word in this Man Zone blessed with great smell and massive dirt built-up, despite any attempt to claim otherwise.

I looked around, stunned into a stooper, wondering how to fix my leaky water pipe.

Plumbers' putty!

Ya. That's for watery places.

I grabbed the plumbers' putty and strode out to the dirt street, scooped out a giant handful of goo and stuck it right on top of the leak.

Fortunately, the leak generated from the cap of our water main's pipe and shot straight up. Unfortunately, the plumbers' putty shot straight up with it.

My face was not only red, it was soaked.

My mind raced.

I shot to the kitchen junk-drawer and returned with green electrical tape.

Look, Ma! I'm green!

I wrapped the putty blob with electrical tape and cupped it back onto the leak. Then, to make sure, I quickly wrapped more green tape around the sides of the pipe like thick milk chocolate frosting on a birthday cake.

But, as you men might suspect, it shot up like a furious octopus into the air.

Mad, I stomped straight to my never-let-me-down fix-it kit and returned with the metal thumb brace recently abandoned by my daughter Brandie. Perfect.

I stuffed the putty into the thumb hole, unwrapped some fresh tape and shoved that thumb brace into place. I held it down, wrapped the whole thing up and stood with a satisfied smile.

Did I mention I'm not particularly good at home improvement?

So instead of hitting the bull's-eye with my creative concoction of fix-it solutions, I shot myself in the foot.

One lesson I learned as Mr. Never-Lets-Me-Forget-It's wife is never admit to failure. So I deftly moved into wifey mode and begged Mr. Nice Guy for help.

Well, great big cow pies! My keyboard's sticking.

Where's that canned air?

Michelle Lovato is a Signal staff writer. Her column reflects her own views and not necessarily those of The Signal.

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