I’m the Handywoman. Beware the wrath of my Screwdriver.

Last night, after a long, long time, I went home to an empty house.

The parents are out of town again and the brother has gone along for the ride.

Now normally, I get all depressed if I’m alone at home at night. Don’t ask why. I just do. I think it’s got something to do with a near-paranoid fear of dying alone surrounded by cats and old issues of Cosmo.

But last night, I did myself proud. Despite the exhaustion that comes from running up and down between the 3rd and 4th floors of office some 200 times a day, I didn’t crash face-down into the mattress.

No. I did my laundry, I cleared the house and I COOKED.

Yes, you read that right. Admittedly, it was only khichdi and papad and fried chillies (I’d had a waffle doused with butter and honey earlier, in the esteemed company of Eliot). But hey, I “fixed myself dinner”. And I think that’s very cool indeed.

But that wasn’t the end of my accomplishments.

I also repaired the pressure cooker.

The day before, I had fixed my front door lock.

In both cases, the problem was the same. Something that always creates problems in mechanical things and in life.

One little screw.

One thought on “I’m the Handywoman. Beware the wrath of my Screwdriver.

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