(I have recently wrote a few short humorous columns for the South African paper City Press. Some friends are unable to get it so I thought I'd post them here. This is the first one)
You know that friend. That one. The one who owns a drill. The one who fixes her own leaky sink and thinks a nice weekend is one spent painting her entire house. Yeah, that friend. Ms DIY. Yeah, I’m not her.
I have three DIY tools: Bostek, tape and super glue. If the problem cannot be solved with one of these amazing products then either the thing with a problem must be thrown away or you must change your lifestyle to adjust for the situation. For example, accepting that you’ll have to mop up the water in your bathroom every half hour. I don’t see the problem.
I won’t lie. I would have liked to have been Ms DIY. I would have liked to own a nail gun and known how to use it without blinding people. But, sadly, I am among the yet to be diagnosed people suffering from DIYD (yes it is pronounced -died): Do It Yourself Dysfunction. It’s a genetic disorder. I’m doomed-it’s in my chromosomes.
The reason I know I have DIYD is my father, a man in denial. He bought every tool known to humanity. He bought those DIY encyclopedias sold on Shopping TV at 3 am. He bought the encyclopedias but never progressed past the diagrams. They gave him the vague idea, enough to get started- he’d “sort out the rest along the way”.
That sorting out the rest led to the problems. One such DIY project was the picnic table aka “the rocket launcher”. It proved entertaining when guests arrived. They would sit down on one side and, once safely in place, one among us would plop down on the other side so as to launch the unsuspecting guest into the air often with drink in hand. We also had the most beautiful and much envied brick doghouse which was, in fact, a braai stand.
So, don’t snicker when I pull out the super glue when the skirting has come loose or the duct tape when the roof is leaking. I have a disorder, show a little compassion.