Man Things

There's a captivating scene in Kath and Kim; brilliant Aussie telly that it is, where Kimmy raves Nylon (!!) about the love she has for her husband, Brett.

"I want a man who knows how to use an allen key..."

(or something like that...it's hard for wives to recall exactly what they specified in moments of sheer organisational splendour) 

Poor Bretty was having a shocker, because Kimmy wanted the Foyeeeeer painted in "eggplant". Kimmy got a stunning canary yellow, the likes of a poached egg yolk I would deliciously hoover down pre-Sydney Sunrise every morning. 

Not purple.

Not eggplant.

Oh dear Bretty....

So I found myself facing a checklist (please refer to Crazy Train blogpost for reviews of the Checklist) of Man Things to do today.

Sunday is the day that blokes go their "place"...the Shed, the Man-cave...Mitre 10...Dick Smith...JB HiFi...Bunnings....the Pub? All those places. Blokes go there. 

Let's not beat around the bush, I'm a girl who likes Girl Stuff. I like Jimmy Choo. 

I like manis and pedis. I like reading and Facebooking. I like yapping on the phone. I like it clean and tidy. I like to bake and frost with pink icing. I'm a girl's girl.

But the single girl is a SURVIVOR.

The single girl CAN DO.

The single girl knows how to use an Allen Key.

(I have 9 from my IKEA collection and I would gladly appreciate your commentary as to what I should do with these sticky bits of metal. Are they metal???)

So, I bravely shrugged into my Bonds singlet and ill-fitting daggy jeans.

Just like a man.

I found a screwdriver and deftly twisted it around my newly painted nails and shea-buttered fingers...almost

Just like a man.

I scooped a scalding cup of Nescafe and slurped appreciatively...

Just like a man.

I heaved a stool on my shoulder; fireman-style, and pounded the stairs with purpose....

Just like a man.

In the darkened corridor of my sunless hallway I strategically placed the aforementioned well-heaved stool (yeeeesh, there's a dad's joke pending...) under the lightbulb, which was reportedly (according to squeally wails from small, beloved children) operating in an Undesirable State.

Cautiously, I approached U/S lightbulb, Philip's head precisely aimed in the crossfire...

Just like a man; a brave and fearsome man.

Insert tool. Check connection.

Lefty-loosie. Righty-tightie.

At this point I felt an overwhelming need to Facebook my MATES to assist with a Haz Mat kit.

And a slab.

However, just like a man....

I persisted. Three insidious screws excised with precision. 

I gingerly placed the light-fitting, with freely brushed and discarded accompanying bits of dust and stuff on the freshly-vacuumed carpet; right in the middle of the heaving-household thoroughfare...

....Just like a man....

I squinted at the U/S light bulb and looked around for a wife to test the lights and possibly remove a broken piece, without gloves or any other personal protective equipment before I bravely inserted brand new Operational Attachment.

Uh oh.

Nil stock wife. Yeah. 

Single girl. Zap Zap.

Man-up honey-child.

Gently, precariously I twisted U/S bulb, chucked it in the bin and wedged brand new box-fresh bulb in its place. DING!!!

And there was LIGHT. Hallelujah!

Phew!!! Time was of the essence.

And I made it!! We all survived.

Where's that Allen Key???