Day 165. No Siree

I had a meeting with a client yesterday afternoon.  There’s a Starbucks in the building, so I decided to pick up some coffee for us.  A couple of guys in line ahead of me were discussing their weekend plans.  No, they weren’t talking about ‘chicks’.  Or other men, for that matter.  Or hockey.  Or basketball.  Or skiing.  Or booze.  Or partying.

Both were headed to Home Depot.  One was renovating his bathroom.  The other was finishing his basement.  Themselves.  Neither sounded like they were being forced to do it.  On the contrary, they seemed excited about it.

As I stood there and listened (okay eavesdropped) all I could think about is how absolutely useless I am.  Took me years to figure out the difference between pliers and a wrench.  Home Depot intimidates the hell out of me.  I swear I’d rather have root canal without an anaesthetic, than go there.

On the few occasions when I had no choice, I never did find what I was looking for.  I don’t know how many times I went up and down the bloody aisles.  None of it makes sense to me.  And just try to find somebody to help.  You could wander around aimlessly, until you’re dead of old age, without finding anyone.

And if you do, well, you might as well not have bothered.  They can spot a novice a mile away; and all they want to do is get away from you, as fast as they can.  They all want to serve the big hulks in the workie boots.  The ones with a pencil sticking out from behind an ear, a tape measure dangling out of a back pocket. and a buddy who’s dragging one of those humongous flat things on wheels you pile all your wood on.  They don’t want to serve some girly who doesn’t know an anvil from an Advil.

Uh, uh.  Not for me.

But I do sometimes envy my friends who know their way around a hardware store.  I have several friends who are regular Ms Fix-Its.  Always puttering.  One bought herself this neat, little level and she hangs all her own art.  She showed me how to do it a dozen times.  No matter how hard I looked through that little window, or whatever it’s called, I never could see what she saw.

It gave me hives.  Made me want to stomp all over every painting I own.

A couple of neighbours bought a fixer-upper.  Starving actors, they decided they’d do all the reno’s, themselves.  Even watched videos and taught themselves how to do the plumbing and electrical work.  They literally tore that house apart and rebuilt it.  Inside and out.  Took two years.  I don’t ever remember walking by, without seeing at least one of them on a ladder.

You should have seen the place when it was finally done.  It could have been photographed for a home decor magazine.  They’d done a spectacular job.  It was flawless.  I was in awe.  I will never understand how they pulled it off.

Once I put a two-shelf IKEA bookcase together.  It took me the better part of a day and I drank myself silly, but I eventually got it done.  Mr. Allen Key and I had quite a thing going for a while.  Alas, it didn’t last.  Never wanted to see him again, to be perfectly honest.  Not my type.  Way too much work.  Too high maintenance for me.

Let’s just say I’m not handy.

Can’t change a tire, either.  Wallpaper.  Well, I can, it’s just not very pretty.  But I do a great job removing it.  I actually like doing it, too.  Have no idea why.  I guess it goes without saying I’d never attempt to put a BBQ together.  I’m the one who always buys the floor model.

Right about now you’re probably thinking I’m a princess.  Really I’m not.  I can’t really help it.  When people can’t dance, it’s said they have two left feet.  Guess I have two left hands.