I Fixed a Sink

My sink broke the other day, and the man code requires that I repair this affront to my well-being.  Though some may dispute it, being a man comes with certain responsibilities—like grimacing in deep concentration without actually accomplishing anything.

The list of manly attributes was carved into a mountain by a frontiersman who was simultaneously pummeling a psychotic grizzly bear with his bare hands (the bear later thanked the frontiersman for teaching him humility).  I’m probably breaking the man code by revealing such information; it’s like opening Pandora’s Box, except the box is planet-sized and full of awesomeness.

Anyway, the man code states: “A man will always know what he is doing when it comes to home improvement.  If he does not know what he is doing, he is still right about everything.”

With such awe-inspiring words filling me from toe to crown topful of direst awesomeness, I found myself reinvigorated as I charged confidently into a home improvement store.  Upon entering, I saw an assortment of oddly shaped things that I overheard others refer to as “tools,” which, as everyone knows, is slang for “things that aren’t the thing you broke.”

Not wanting to appear uninformed, I perfected my attire to ensure the greatest attention was given to me: I wore an Indiana Jones fedora and a Henry Fonda duster from Once Upon a Time in the West, thus giving me an approachable appearance with an undercurrent of fury.  I assumed a casual, yet king-like stance, while nonchalantly mentioning that I was only having difficulty with home maintenance because I’d been too busy curing cancer to devote my full time to the problem (I did this while perfectly imitating Liam Neeson’s vocal cadence).

The sales associates approached, obviously recognizing my vital importance to the future of our species and to their bottom line, scuttling off to get me exactly what I needed, laughing to cover up how intimidated they felt by me.   When they returned, I was disappointed that they didn’t genuflect to me.  They babbled on about how I needed a hammer and a pipe wrench, and something else that rhymed with one of those tools that I didn’t care about.

I acquired the necessary materials and moseyed toward the register, feeling not unlike a soldier going into battle, except without the guns and the threat of death, and the actual battle.

After the resounding success of my conquest, I returned home, where my wife had already silenced the children in anticipation of my arrival (she modestly calls it “nap time”).  When I entered the house, the air became jittery, each molecule hoping to have the honor of me inhaling it.

I arrived at the bathroom, and the sink was still broken.  I had hoped that during my trip to the home improvement store that the sink would fix itself.  Alas, it was not to be.  But I now had the chance to show my wife just how amazing I am.

After a thorough assessment that took approximately one second, I recognized that the best course of action was to violently beat the sink with my newly purchased pipe wrench.  During this delicate procedure, my wife walked by inquiring as to why there was a geyser in our bathroom.  I unleashed a vulgar, yet exquisitely brilliant string of obscenities that Shakespeare would envy.

Clearly impressed with my verbal acrobatics and in awe of my plumbing ability, my wife went to make sure the kids hadn’t blown up the rest of the house.   This was all part of the plan: I must fail first, that way my inevitable triumph will make me that much more god-like to her.

I read once that plumbing is fairly intricate work, so my main mode of attack was to assume that “intricate” is a fancy word for “requires me to know almost nothing”.  Charging ahead with gargantuan confidence, I strategically cluttered the bathroom floor with assorted pieces of pipe and everything that looked like a tool to trick any passersby into thinking that I’ve actually accomplished anything.  Such a setup allowed me to spend several hours playing with my phone or napping under the sink.

Whenever my wife or kids walked by, I told them that things were going well; the debris confirmed this and also created a convenient obstruction should they decide to enter the bathroom to check on my lack of progress.  Occasionally my wife wanted some specifics, so I used a lot of fancy terminology like “I need to put this pipe here,” “I probably should have shut of the water before I did anything,” and “Go away.”

After about three days of having a nonfunctional sink, I confidently claimed that I could fix it if I chose to, but I preferred to let someone else do so.  To show how hard I’d tried, I made sure to get my hands as dirty as possible, and I threw a few tools at the sink in mock annoyance for good measure.

When the plumber finally arrived, his laughter reverberated about the house.  Lest I look like a fool, I joined his laughter.  Although the repair bill came to about $3565 dollars, I accomplished something I can truly be proud of: my wife will never ask me to fix anything again.

 

Photo by Daniel Fazio on Unsplash

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