I had a fight with a hanger and why it's my husbands fault

They say you have to pick your battles and out there in the real world I do okay with that. In general, I can let the things slide, not react to provocation and coast along pretty well with the bumps and grinds that life swings my way. At home it is another story...When I'm all alone (that's me, my personal jury which has an opinion about everything, and let's not forget my inner demons willing to jump at the chance to remind me that life is in fact, tortuous). Yesterday, I chose to wrestle with a coat hanger situated within my tangled web of a closet where everything I EVER want to wear is inaccessible to me. How could that be? Well- that is a good question to ask my 6ft4 husband who installs every cupboard, cabinet or shelf at least 6 inches too high for me to reach...Yes, I am thankful that he at least assembles the occasional purchase, but how is it that there are always leftover screws and a drawer that won't quite pull out without some serious muscle?

Once his mission is accomplished and the aforementioned cupboard/cabinet is put together he gives me very specific instructions which always imply that I'm a brute and break everything in the house. Now I am sorry but appliances can only live so long, especially the ones bought with my fidelity points at the grocery store and that were made in Russia! I remember the time we got a phone that way, it worked perfectly fine as long as you didn't need to telephone anyone whose number had a 9 in it!

Ironically despite the fact that every time I ask him to repair something he reminds me that he is a lawyer and not McGyver, he refuses to let me call a professional. As things stand now, the toilet is NOT running constantly but my dear hubby patrols the bathroom door checking everyone's flushing technique. Here's how he explains it:  "A gentle and quick tap on the button, but whatever you do-Don't hold it for longer than 30 seconds or the damn may flood!".

I should just be grateful for the crooked bookshelf and the extra exercise I get going to get a stool every time I need a dish or a dress-at least I don't have to do it...