When I was a senior in High School I visited BYU while on a trip with my cousin who is my same age.
During the visit my cousin and I were wandering around the Freshman dorms when we were approached by two beautiful college girls who asked us for some help. These girls had the hood of their car up and were attempting to change the oil, but didn't know how. A potential "moment" for some high school kids. Changing the oil was the first step to a glorious night.
We sauntered over to the car and I took the lead and began looking around under the hood for something, anything that said oil. It couldn't be that hard I thought, although I had never in my life even looked under the hood of a car.
A few minutes later I walked away from those beautiful college girls thoroughly humiliated. I couldn't find the oil, not even the dip stick. Clueless, helpless.
This was the first of many embarassing and hapless attempts at being Handy. Blowing the circuity of an entire apartment complex, hitting myself in the head with a hammer. I could go on.
Which brings me to Bill. I often come home in the evening or on the weekend to find a man in my house doing odd jobs. Bill. Putting up child proof locks, replacing the garbage disposal, fixing the faucet. Many times I'm not even aware something was broken or needed to be done. Mindy doesn't even bother telling me anymore. She just calls Bill.
So I just nonchalantly say hi to Bill, grateful for the extra time I have to Blog.
During the visit my cousin and I were wandering around the Freshman dorms when we were approached by two beautiful college girls who asked us for some help. These girls had the hood of their car up and were attempting to change the oil, but didn't know how. A potential "moment" for some high school kids. Changing the oil was the first step to a glorious night.
We sauntered over to the car and I took the lead and began looking around under the hood for something, anything that said oil. It couldn't be that hard I thought, although I had never in my life even looked under the hood of a car.
A few minutes later I walked away from those beautiful college girls thoroughly humiliated. I couldn't find the oil, not even the dip stick. Clueless, helpless.
This was the first of many embarassing and hapless attempts at being Handy. Blowing the circuity of an entire apartment complex, hitting myself in the head with a hammer. I could go on.
Which brings me to Bill. I often come home in the evening or on the weekend to find a man in my house doing odd jobs. Bill. Putting up child proof locks, replacing the garbage disposal, fixing the faucet. Many times I'm not even aware something was broken or needed to be done. Mindy doesn't even bother telling me anymore. She just calls Bill.
So I just nonchalantly say hi to Bill, grateful for the extra time I have to Blog.
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