My husband, Tommy, recently retired from his work of 40 years. He’s still getting used to life without work—he can be very restless at home! Wherever he goes and whatever he touches, he’ll surely find something wrong with it and will start ‘fixing’ it. The thing is, Tommy has never been a handyman. In more than sixty years of marriage, only once have I seen him work on something in the house—and he failed miserably at it. Since then, we always hire repairmen and mechanics to do all the fixing around the house.
One unfortunate day, he found something down at our basement that (surprise, surprise!) ‘needed fixing’. I didn’t even know what it’s used for—he kept telling me it’s an engine or something for something or other. Anyway, I let him tinker away and after about thirty minutes, I heard a loud yell from the basement. One of his tools accidentally slipped from his grip and hit him on his mouth! His lower lip had a huge gash—there was blood all over his shirt! We rushed him to the ER right away. That was the last day I saw him ‘fixing’ something that wasn’t broken or useful to us anymore.