Canada's Worst Handyman

        Cupcake is full of ideas. Sadly, they are predominately ideas of things for me to do. Her most recent brainwave was for a bicycle shelter. She figured by freeing the bikes from our storage shed, we could shift stuff from the garage to the place where the bikes now reside. This, she claimed, would create space in the garage for what’s now in the attic which would provide room to store the items she wanted out of her storage closet in the den.
Not wanting to become lost in the bizarre labyrinth of what she uses for logic, I focused on the part that had something to do with me. "You want me to build a bike shelter just so you can clean out a cupboard?" I asked doubtfully. “Is that really necessary?"
It’s not that I’m lazy (despite all the rumours) but if I was on a TV show it would be more like “Canada’s Worst Handyman” than “Extreme Home Makeover”. In fact, I’d rather watch The Women's Television Network than the House and Garden network, as all I see it as is Chore TV. I tried to get it blocked so Cupcake wouldn’t get any more big ideas but failed miserably just because she pays the bill for it. The problem is these TV guys can cut all their wood for a project ahead of time and it all fits together during the assembly stage. Cupcake thinks all men are born with this knowledge. She believes within the X-chromosome is a set of Popular Mechanics and that if she can dream it, I can build it. And being a male of the species, I have never told her different.
"Of course it’s necessary," she responded. "We have all those old 2X4’s kicking around and there’s plywood in the garage you’ve been saving for who knows how long. It won’t cost a dime. What more do you need?"
I privately had to admit she was right. I had everything I needed, other than skill, energy and motivation. I still wasn’t too thrilled, though. Carpentry is darned hard work involving frequent trips to the bank, the hardware store and occasionally the emergency department at the hospital.
Despite my distaste for construction work, however, I pretended to agree to the task, thinking there may yet be a way out if I played along. I had to convince her I was serious so she wouldn’t be suspicious if things didn’t pan out.
To demonstrate by enthusiasm, I donned my sturdy leather tool belt with the nail pouches, pencil sheath and hammer holster. Although it invariably pulls my pants down (the curse of a flat posterior) I still love to wear it. Nothing gets the old testosterone going like a good tool belt, other than maybe an AK47.
I strapped on the belt like I was girding for battle, then marched outside; sureness in my step. I then marched back inside, poured myself a coffee and sat down.
"Are you done already?" she asked in jest. (She uses that one a lot.)
"No, I just forgot to ask an important question," I responded tentatively. "What, exactly, do you mean by a ‘bike shed’? I don’t want it half built and you going ‘That’s not what I want, at all’.”
As expected, her concept of sheltering bicycles was different from mine. Hers included a gabled roof with upper hatches, shelving on both sides, and room for four bicycles, two lawnmowers and a large plastic wheelbarrow. I was surprised she hadn’t included a full bathroom.
"What?" I exclaimed. "No rec-room in the basement?"
"Very funny," she snapped. "You’re lucky I decided against the feature wall."
I pointed out we only had five sheets of plywood and if she wanted a more elaborate structure, we’d have to save up materials and wouldn’t be able to build it that weekend. I sketched out a simple construct with an open front and a roof sloping to the back. It looked like a small-scale machine shed. I knew she would hate it.
"I’m afraid with our available material; this is all we could build. I’m sure you want something nicer," I said, trying to sound regretful.
"You mean, if I agree to this, you could build it this weekend?" she asked pointedly.
"Well, I suppose…um…I’m…uh," I gulped.
"Well it’s not so bad," she said looking at the drawing. “Kind of quaint, really. It looks like what I originally thought of before I got ambitious with the cupboards and whatnot."
I winced as I saw the trap close in on me.
"You said you could have it finished by Sunday? That would be terrific. Thanks, honey!" she exclaimed, "I knew I could get you to do it, I mean, I knew you would do it for me because you love me."
I sighed as I stood, yanking up my tool belt again. No sense protesting, I knew I’d been had.
P.S. During construction, Cupcake was busy, too. Now the new ‘bike shed’ is filled with stuff from the garage, the attic and the closet while the bikes are back in the storage shed.