I’ve noticed a new character in the decorating and home improvement shows I watch: the Drill-Wielding Super Babe. I usually view these shows out of the corner of my eye while I’m responding to emails, chatting with my family, or otherwise multi-tasking, but I swear I’ve seen several shows now with hot female carpenters at the helm. These friendly and pretty gals spend their time chatting it up with the friendly and pretty hosts while effortlessly maneuvering a circular saw, or using a nail gun to hang a wood cornice they constructed. They are soul sisters to those on Be Jane, a website empowering women to try DIY projects. I want to be one of these women. Unfortunately, I’m not. Let’s review why:
1. I have no idea what I’m doing.
2. My home improvement T-shirts are not sleek, fitted or cute. They are ugly, over-sized, stained and emphasize the curves on my body I don’t want you to see.
3. If my project went awry (which would likely be every time), I’d be more apt to throw a tool at the show’s host, or scream a mother-f’ing this or g-d that, instead of “Oh, that wasn’t supposed to happen! Good thing I can use that broken wood to build a decorative birdhouse for the owners’ new garden room!”
Side note: Remember the scene from A Christmas Story when The Old Man was fixing the furnace? (The adult Ralphie narrates: “In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.”) Let’s just say, like Ralphie, the calm fix-it gene doesn’t run in my family.
4. The drill and I have a tenuous relationship. It probably has something to do with the broken drill bits and my verbal abuse. We’re currently in counseling.
5. I never seem to choose the right tool for the job, and, if I did in the past, I don’t remember. Example: this weekend I decided to upgrade the showerhead in the guest bath. I assumed my Channelock pliers that look like this would work as well as a wrench, which I didn’t have. In theory and in the spirit of improvising, it made sense; they’re both used to grip and turn things.
However, I quickly learned that, although I wrapped the showerhead in an old cloth, the Channellock metallic teeth promptly bit through it and scratched the chrome. A lot. After a few more tries while taking the good Lord’s name in vain, I decided I needed a wrench. And off to Lowe’s I went.
Yes, I got the showerhead on. Maybe the new decorating trend will be scratched and dented bath fixtures so they look antique? It worked for furniture…
I am so not Jane. Sigh.