It looks like Himself is morphing into a handyman. In the past several years he has assembled a day bed, a desk and installed two dishwashers.
This is the fellow who previously did not know the difference between a Phillips-head and a standard screwdriver. This baffled me, not for sexist 'men ought to know this stuff' reasons, but because I thought everyone had their own toolbox. Even I have one. My dad gave it to me.
Dad attacked domestic fixit tasks with ingenuity and creativity. His solutions weren't always a success in the conventional sense of the word, but they were effective. Sure, the piano may have needed more than one person to move it down a spiral staircase, but apparently it could be gotten down with just the one maniac, and yes, he dropped it, and the chord it played on landing was terrifying - but it got down the stairs, didn't it? The oven may have been a little unwieldy to use with an octopus strap and a large metal lever holding the door closed - but the door was held shut, wasn't it? And we didn't have to pay anyone else to come and do it. That was the main point, the life choices of the parental hippies not being conducive to the accruing of finances.
Upon discussing the anatomy of screw-drivers, I was shocked to hear that handyperson-role-modelling had not occurred in Himself's childhood. Allegedly neither of his parents own a toolbox. I find this hard to believe and have not checked this fact, but they are beacons of sensible financial planning, and no doubt able to afford someone to fix cars and tile the odd bathroom.
Anyway, the latest item to be assembled is an over-the-bed table for the new laptop winging its way towards me. It was from Officeworks and was a third the price of the horrible brown one from the independent living shop that sells aids for the disabled. Having a disability is like being a bride, everything costs three times as much. I'm really looking forward to being able to use the laptop more easily while horizontal.
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