Kate vs. The Shower Door

Did you ever see The Simpsons episode where Homer, Marge, et al. moved to the family farm? (I think it is the tomacco episode.) Every time Homer drives the tractor it rolls over on him. It becomes a running gag throughout the episode, and by the end all he has to do is walk by the tractor and it flips over on him. This is how Kate is with our Shower door. (You know, it is one of those kinds that is on a sliding track and has a nice, convenient bar on it to hang a washcloth.) I have never seen anyone have so many problems with a household furnishing. I swear, all she has to do is walk into the bathroom and it falls out of the track.

I always know I am in trouble when I hear a sweet, meek "Joe-ey, can you come up to the bathroom and do a husbandly job?" And I sigh, take off my socks, grab a screwdriver (sometimes the drink, not the tool) and fix it for her. This morning was one of these times. I found my self standing in the bathtub with a screwdriver (the tool, not the drink) at 7 a.m. on a Sunday having to remove the entire door because she had defied the laws of physics by jamming the door at an angle that M.C. Escher would have applauded.

But I guess I shouldn't complain since we have lived in some apartments where those sweetly spoken words meant that I had to grab a plunger, Drano, and a stick of dynamite.
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Turnaround is fair play. Remember the Dustruffle I had difficulty with the other day? When I told Kate she rolled her eyes, walked upstairs, and proceeded to attach it in less than two minutes. Her question: "Where were you trying to put it exactly? It's a dustruffle. What kind of moron can't put a dustruffle on a crib?" Yeah, it was rather obvious when I saw what she did, so I think I deserved the "moron."