(For all wives fortunate enough to have a Robo-Hub in their lives.)
This is the first column by Suddenly Senior reader, MaryAnn McKissick, who also calls herself “Psychochef.”
Do you happen to have a remarkable Valentine love in your life who, bless-his-little-pea-pickin’ heart, try as he will, (And he always will try!) never seems to get any handyman job done quite right?
My darling Robo-Hub is one of those sweethearts. His words, “I’ll fix that myself because it’ll be cheaper.” have struck torrents of terror into my soul on more than one occasion. You must love him for it, though, because he is so danged enthusiastic and determined.
Similar to after childbirth in women, Ro’s do-it-yourself fiascoes appear to cause an amnesia-like state, wherein there is no connection between past pain or suffering and his current handyman expectations. Rather, the sheer thrill of birthing a new pound, piece, and paint project masks any semblance to reality.
Let me site his fixing of our front door as an example: When it was extremely windy, our front door would sometimes blow open. We’d wake up in the morning or return home from shopping to find that door standing wide-open.
Finding it totally unacceptable, not to mention dangerous, Ro said, “I’ll fix that myself because it’ll be cheaper.” For several days, Robo plotted a tablet-full of strategies, graphing angles and ruler-precise linear details for how to get that door to stay shut properly.
Then came the rounds of false starts because in the middle of the repair he decided he needed a new tool, or half-dozen, before continuing. Countless trips to Home Depot, Sherman Williams, Orchard Supply, and Paul’s Restaurant where other Hub-advice experts gather around plates of bacon and eggs, are mandatory components of each Robo home project.
For reasons I can’t fathom to this day, chatting it up with walk-by neighbors, postmen, church ladies, children, door-to-door miracle cleaner salesmen, and chasing runaway dogs figure into Rob’s door repair calculations Finally after about a month or so of Ro’s “fixing” the door and my having to climb into the house via a patio window, I’ll collude with a commercial door repair service to secretly come finish the job!
Rob will never notice the garbage bag plastic entry he designed to hermetically seal us from unwanted intrusion is gone because by this time, he’s already happily drafting and designing plans for a plumbing project with plunger, hip-waders, and his ever-positive attitude, securely in hand.
I’d like to acknowledge the grateful heart and warm feelings wives hold for their Robo-hubs and particularly wish mine many more years of fixing things himself because it’s been priceless.
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