THE WORST HANDYMAN EVER is yours truly. My mechanical aptitude is about on a par with an unborn fetus. The only reason that I can distinguish a flathead screwdriver from a Phillip’s head is that my mother used them when she put my crib together while I was in utero and somehow that entered my consciousness. Twenty-one years later, when I was in my fifth month of hospitalization, leading up to the ileostomy surgery, she told me that she was in labor for a long time when I was born because I must have known how sick I was going to get and so I decided to stay in her womb where it was nice and snug and warm. Anyway, whenever something goes awry around the house, it is a special challenge for me to deal with it. Yesterday morning, it was the toilet. It had been running noisier and nosier for a couple of weeks. My reaction was to grimace and ignore it. My spouse, the more rational of the two of us, forced the issue. I removed the lid and stared. There was water leaking from the top of the gizmo on the left side of the tank. I had no idea what to do. I fiddled and fiddled. “YouTube has how-to videos,” she suggested. I looked at two of them. Neither solved my exact problem, but I did see how to twist the red cap off the gizmo. Once that was accomplished, I noticed a whirligig thingee that seemed to have a part in a small gap; I twisted it to the next gap. Voilá. The water stopped running. Two test flushes proved successful. No more noisy running. Just like that I became a fix-it-yourself hero. My spouse is so proud of me. We’ll see if the damn thing is still quiet next week.
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