Screw It

My father-in-law is a man's man. He was a local hockey star when he was younger. Worked in construction for years, during the big boom in Calgary. He has a hunting camp. He drives a four-wheeler, which he hauls around in his massive pick up truck.

So, I often wonder how he felt when Jodi brought me home to meet him, about 13 years ago. "This is Lloyd. He dropped out of studies for an English degree, and now he's planning to go to cooking school. No, he doesn't own a car, or even know anything about cars. In fact, his father's car has a flat and he's hoping you could help change it because he has no idea how to."

I haven't gotten any manlier over the years, either, as I have pointed out previously. But he's always been good about overlooking my wimpishness. He must have been really proud the day when, during a visit a couple of months ago, he was helping me install a new light fixture in the dining room. He said "Lloyd, could you grab me a Phillips screwdriver?"

I ran to the basement to my toolbox (which is the toolbox that my knives came in during cooking school) and dug around. I went back upstairs and said, "sorry, no Phillips, just Black and Decker and Mastercraft. Is one of those ok?"

I. Am. Hopeless.