The three-step home­main­te­nance plan needs re­pair

Lori Borgman finds the funny in ev­ery­day life, writ­ing from the heart­land of the US. Now, if she could just find her car keys...

Friday - - Humour - Tell us what you think. Email us at fri­day@gulfnews.com

Over the years, the hus­band and I have de­vel­oped a three-step ap­proach to home re­pair. Step one is to note the prob­lem. Step two is to wait and see if the prob­lem takes care of it­self.

Step three is to talk about how we saw pro­fes­sion­als at­tack the prob­lem on one of those home and gar­den tele­vi­sion shows.

Of course, they al­ways have large work crews, no clean-up and ac­com­plish in 10 min­utes what may take the rest of us three months, so then we get dis­cour­aged and re­vert to step two, which is wait and see if the prob­lem takes care of it­self.

For the record, a home re­pair pro­ject has never taken care of it­self yet, but that doesn’t mean we’ve given up hope.

The sys­tem worked well for more than three decades and we were happy. And then our youngest daugh­ter mar­ried a fel­low who does not abide by the three-step plan.

He does not note a prob­lem, talk about a prob­lem, or con­sult with me­dia gu­rus; he sim­ply at­tacks the prob­lem head-on and fixes it as fast as he can. We should prob­a­bly call him Flash. His wife once men­tioned that the tiles in their kitchen were look­ing dated and 90 min­utes later they were at a big box store and she was pick­ing out tiles. He had the old tiles off and the sur­face prepped for new tiles by sun­down. It’s like watch­ing a fast mo­tion video. When their youngest out­grew her crib and needed a tod­dler bed, he built one. In a weekend.

I’ll grant you the man has tal­ent, but he sure makes the rest of us look bad.

He was at our home for din­ner one evening and no­ticed that the re­frig­er­a­tor door made a ka-lunk sound as you closed it. He asked if it both­ered me. I said yes, but I was still on step two, wait­ing to see if the ka-lunk sound would take care of it­self.

The meal was about over when I de­tected mo­tion in my pe­riph­eral vi­sion. And then there was a beep­ing sound – the alarm sig­nalling the re­frig­er­a­tor door was open. I looked over my shoul­der and there was Flash with the door com­pletely off the re­frig­er­a­tor.

“I found the prob­lem,” he said. “It’s this small plas­tic clip. I can fix it.” “Great,” I said. “I can get dessert.” We all have our strengths, right? Mine is cho­co­late.

He had the re­frig­er­a­tor door fixed by the time I cut the brown­ies.

Our SON-IN-LAW does not NOTE a prob­lem, TALK about a prob­lem, or CON­SULT with me­dia gu­rus; he sim­ply AT­TACKS the prob­lem head-on and­fix­e­si­tas­fas­tashecan.Weshould­prob­a­bly­call­himFLASH

We ap­pre­ci­ate it all. We re­ally do – the screen re­pair on the back door, the towel bar that no longer pulls out of the wall, the com­puter help, the plumb­ing help and the loan of the fancy nail gun with the air com­pres­sor.

But now that he’s raised the bar, life will never be the same. It’s time for us to up our game.

And so we are. We’re adding step four – call the son-in-law.

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