Duct Tape, Flat Tires, and Other Things

I know my way around a roll of duct tape.

I also know the names of most tools and can mount a good argument about whether the screw we are working on outside needs a Phillips-head or an Allen wrench. (Who were Phillip and Allen and why do they have tools named after them?)

I also know how to thaw a frozen pipe using a hair dryer. My father, when I called him forty years ago asking what to do, told me to use a blowtorch but I didn’t have one. Do people normally have blowtorches? Why did my father have a blowtorch?

I theoretically know how to change a tire. This means I could tell someone else how to do it, but I can’t deal with the lug nuts. And speaking of which – lug nuts – is that a perfect term or what?

I know a lot of things but I’m not competent in any role beyond advisor or, as is commonly termed, a second guesser. This is because I don’t want to be responsible for a repair or an installation or an unclogging or anything that has day to day living ramifications. I can’t handle that burden.

Today, my husband and I replaced the dryer hose or vent, not sure what it’s called. It’s the thing that looks like a Slinky but it’s eight feet long and four inches wide. One end attaches to the dryer and the other to a vent to the outside. This is so when you walk up your driveway you can smell the country fresh aroma of your drying clothes.

My husband said ahead of time that he had done this job before. I don’t recall but I believe him. Ninety percent of our family life has become a blur hovering under the heading – “It was all okay, aka we did the best we could.”

Anyway, he got up on the step stool and began wrangling with the new dryer hose and the vent and it seemed to take hours of advising him about what edge of the vent was hindering what edge of the hose until somehow, miraculously, the two fitted together and I began the ritual snipping of duct tape.

I love that job so much. I feel like a surgical nurse assisting in a heart transplant.

I cut perfect duct tape.

Wrap duct tape around my urn and write on it with a permanent marker – That Jan, she could cut a perfect piece every time.