It is no secret that my husband absolutely detests house maintenance. Witnessing his attempts is like watching a cave man trying to make fire for the first time. He sweats, and grunts and groans, the expletive words in his vocabulary becoming more and more flowery. His looks become wild and he inevitably lands up nearly slicing off an appendage. I have learned in almost 14 years to leave…just…leave, because to be roped in could mean the end of a relatively good marriage. Each And Every Time.
I did not realize that the malfunction, breakdown and repair of any and all household appliances, electical wiring or plumbing was simply my fault; nor that the failure-to-fix said appliances, electrical wiring or plumbing was equally so. I did not read the fine print of our pre-marital contact.
But I am not without humour:
As each lightbulb blows and the house gets darker and darker, I see the ingenious move towards energy saving and the romance that darkness ultimately brings, watching tv by the soft lit glow of candle light.
As the shower (blocked again and filling nearly to overflowing) leaves me to bail like a naked drowning fisherman in the middle of the ocean, I think to myself,
“How ingenious: extreme water saving efforts in our declared Water Disaster Area!”
And then my thoughts move to the very clever name of a local maintenace company:
Rent-a-husband
And I laugh…how ingenious!
Tomorrow I shall give them a ring
The Musings of a Morrissey 