Tool belts are not a part of my wardrobe, and the closest thing I have to a power tool is my electric toothbrush.
Of course, I do own a toolbox.
It’s wedged up against the door to the mudroom to keep it closed.
Sure, I could probably use the tools in the box to fix the door so it remains shut, but the toolbox is doing a great job.
Plus, I always know where it is should I ever actually need a tool.
In my book, “Do it yourself” means going next door and asking my neighbor Mark to help me with whatever project I have no idea how to handle on my own.
Mark has always been great about it, and he never teases me about being a writer, who only knows how to use tools as murder weapons in his crazy stories.
Lately, however, I have made an effort to be a little more self-reliant.
I won’t be hosting a revival of Tool Time at The House on the Hill anytime soon, but should Mark suddenly vanishes into Witness Protection or something, the house might not collapse around me.
Last month, I replaced the toilet seat cover in the downstairs bathroom. Now that might sound like an incredibly simple project to you home improvement jocks, but you weren’t here the last time I had to come off the bench to replace that item.
The old seat cover had metal bolts , and probably had been protecting that toilet since The House on the Hill was built.
As a result, the bolts were rusted and cruddy and stubborn. It took Mark and I over an hour to remove them, and I think we invented some new curse words along the way.
When it came time to complete the task again, I made sure to buy a seat cover with plastic bolts and instructions that said the task was designed for ages 5 and up.
Of course, I still have to remove the bolts on the old seat. They were plastic, and not nearly as old as their predecessors, but that came with a whole new set of challenges.
Because of my brute strength, I quickly destroyed the threads on the first first bolt and could no longer make it turn with the screwdriver.
It was also in the nineties that day, and there’s no air conditioning in the bathroom, so I was sweating my bolts off.
I eventually pried off the top of the bolt with the pliers, and it just slid out of the hole. The second bolt, having heard my angry cursing while working on the first bolt, surrendered and came out without a fuss.
As you know, I often refer to myself as King Klutz, and my kingdom is vast.
Essentially, I can be clumsy anyplace and at any time. No one is ever safe from my reign of terror.
It’s been very chilly at night lately, and my bedroom has felt like an icebox because of the cold air getting in through the window.
Why is cold air getting into my room? Because the air conditioner is still in place.
Being King Klutz, I have been afraid to try to remove the AC on my own. It’s large, it’s heavy, and it’s hanging out a window just waiting to dance with gravity and see how quickly it can find its way to the ground below.
I kept waiting for Mark to have some time to help me take it out, but his work schedule and mine didn’t sync well all week.
After another frigid night under the covers, I made an executive decision that the magic metal box of cold air was coming out today no matter what.
After my five mile morning run, I grabbed the toolbox, which was exactly where I knew it would be, and headed up to the bedroom to “be handy”.
I figured I might as well put my runner’s high to good use. After a run, I feel like I can do pretty much anything. Plus, I’m a little too tired to really think things through, and I so desperately want to take a shower, that I’m not going to mess around.
I managed to get the air conditioner out without it falling to its death, or crushing anyone unfortunate enough to be hanging out under my bedroom window.
No, it wasn’t a flawless task. It took this Evil Genius a couple of minutes to realize that no matter how hard I tried to shove it into the box, it wasn’t going to fit. You know, because the side brackets weren’t on it when we took it out of the box.
Bottom line, though, is that the storm window is down and the air conditioner is safely tucked away in the storage room.
No one was injured. No equipment was destroyed.
The toolbox is back where it belongs down next to the mudroom door.
And there is much joy in King Klutz’s Kingdom…