We hung this sign
and fixed this toilet
That is right, I helped fix the toilet. I TOUCHED the toilet people! With my bare hands. I reached right in and fiddled with it and fixed it. Well, we fixed it. It took one and a half hours and we were on the brink of divorce at several points, but we did it.
The fights started in the toilet-part aisle of Home Depot (hereinafter "the evil empire"). Anyone who ownes a home has been through the 4 stages of Home Depot. First is excitement, then comes dependence, then comes hatred, and finally, acceptance. We are finishing up the hatred phase now. We have grown to hate going to home depot. The very nature of a store that you need to go to every. single. damn. weekend. can drive you insane. But I digress.
First we argued over what might be wrong with the toilet. The argument was irrelevant because neither of us knew what was wrong with the toilet, or how to fix it, or what parts would be necessary even if we could pinpoint the problem. Finally, a sales person told us that we needed a $2 flapper. Which we bought.
Then we bought the stuff necessary to hang the sign. Another fight errupted over the need to purchase a level. I (normally very frugal when it comes to stuff I think we don't "need") felt the level was necessary to hang the picture. He (will spend every dime in his possession on the most irrelevant and frivilous things, like ugly leather flip flops he will never wear and never return but cost $50) did not want to purchase a level. It was at this point where it became apparent to me that he did not know how the level really worked or what exact role the level would play in the hanging of the picture. I explained it to him, he (now understanding) agreed with me. Crisis averted.
The next fight ensued when we started to put the brace brackets on the back of the picture and I, using the level, lost my patience with him when I realized that he didn't understand what I wanted him to do and snapped at him. He then lost his patience with me. I told him he was being too sensitive, he told me that I was being mean...and let's just say it degenerated from there.
We regained composure and maintained a tense detente throughout the drill usage, which I explained to him in a patient way through gritted teeth, and to which he listened patiently, through gritted teeth.
When the sign was hung, we adjourned to the deck for a drink of soda and a post fight discussion. The fight was dissected and it was determined that he feels a little insecure at my Bob Villa-like prowess and I am a little offended that it bothers him that his wife is better with power tools than he is. There were several I am sorry's on both sides, alot of hugging and some kisses.
We had such a good talk that we decided to fix the toilet. Dinner plans be damned...this will just take 5 minutes. Well we fixed the flapper, and in the process somehow broke another part of the toilet. After an hour of fiddling and tinkering, and running upstairs to the second floor bathroom to study the working toilet, we determined what the problem was and fixed it.
I have to say, the feeling of fixing something yourself, of figuring it out on your own, with just a pocket knife and your wits...TOTALLY GREAT! I think this whole figuring out how to fix the toilet only serves to further prove the already foregone conclusion that my husband and I could kick ass on Survivor. Once you have faced a toilet, facing Boston Rob is nothing.
Plus, I have almost been able to block out that my bare hand was in the toilet tank. Ewwwwww...
"what's that you ask?...What did we do this weekend?...Oh, well we had a plumbing issue that we had to figure out and fix...oh, it was nothing...no, no, we don't have any training, just kind of figured it out on instinct" That's just how we roll.