… with my hammer.
Even though I lack the necessary plumbing, I have managed to out-handyman the males in the family. At first they were surly, then resigned, and now they’re pretending that it’s always been this way.
Lemme see. I managed to prevent Dad and J from breaking my $200 light therapy lamp AND getting concussed/ or killed by a Pier One glass head or cast-steel African mask. They stopping mocking me when I explained that I was yelling at them so they wouldn’t either: a) kill themselves, b) grossly injure themselves, or c) break something very expensive. Not that they deserved to be saved from such fates after snarking at me for days, ignoring my warnings, and not even looking up when they started yanking my bookcase away from the wall.
But, damn, it’s a $200 lamp, right?
And, really, how would I explain it to the EM guys (who’d probably snark at me too) and Mum?
Then, ahhahahaha, I fixed the damn Dish receiver, TV, VCR, and DVD player (which WEREN’T working, and the boys swore couldn’t work anymore). They shouldn’t have talked down to me in the first place, on this one, anyway, since I’ve been the only one in the family who could program a VCR for the past 10 years. Dad apologized for that incident at least. Emm just sat down and turned on Bill Mahr.
I also, with a pair of plyers, managed to fix the dog’s pinch collar (again). Ha.
Despite how this blog may sound recently, I swear I don’t hate men. Just the ones related to me, or breaking my windows. My window is still not fixed, by the way. Instead, the carpeting has been ripped off of the front room floor:
Ahvell. Final note: I cast on Iro. It’s going well. I don’t get the Noro fuss, and probably never will, but I think it’ll be a nice afghan when I’m done. I still hate “that Judaica thing”, baby T’s wraplan is progressing well, and I need to go and make dinner.