You da Man

When our piece o' crud garage opener decided to go belly-up Monday, E attempted the necessary repairs. I don't know what he did out there, but I did hear the garage door succumb to the forces of gravity in such a shocking manner that I felt compelled to peek out to see if 911 should be called and fast. E conceded and called the repair company to come the next day and the man informed me the sprockets were sprung, the mother board circuitry gadget thingies were blown and there was gunk in the bushings and gaskets. Or something like that. Anyway, R.I.P. old Genie opener.

Now, I pass along the diagnosis and the quote for replacement to E, and he thinks for a minute and does a few quick calculations and decides against his better judgement to tackle the project himself. And dog-gone-it, you know what? He did it. And the best part is our new belt-driven Liftmaster DOESN'T sound like a freight train under Wonderboy's bedroom. A new garage opener has literally changed our lives, people. Do you hear me? Changed. Our. Lives.

And since I'm on the subject of men being manly and getting things done and all that, here is Wonderboy taking out the trash. In case my photography skills, the low light level, and overall size of the photo are not adequate to allow you to appreciate the finer details here, I'll tell you he is taking out the trash at 5:00 p.m. in a combination of Ratatouille and Cars Movie pajamas, a leather belt and cowboy boots. And this was only after we insisted he remove the Hanes briefs he had fashioned into a head wrap, and the assortment of extra clothes he had stuffed into the belly and bottom of the pajamas to creat a rather surprising Boobah likeness.