There are three words that I abhor: It’s quite simple …

If it truly is quite simple, Why the hell do you think I’m asking how is it done? 

Invariably the person will utter these words: “Uh, it’s a little more complicated than that.” 

No shit, sherlock.

A soon-to-be sixth grader would probably say, “No dip, sherlock,” but I am edgier and more provocative than any preteen. I wish someone had told me that I went through a preteen phase, or that I am still slogging through my own preteen phase, but preteens didn’t exist when Dan Pastorini quarterbacked the Houston Oilers or Lynda Carter beguiled a nation as Wonder Woman. 

Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman competing in the X Games.

I’ve digressed, But since I’m my own editor who cares. 

“It’s quite simple” never seems to add up. I drag my unhandy ass to the hardware store and I am put in the awkward position of asking an employee the most basic home improvement questions that any virile American male should know. Any guy with a toolbelt, a collection of mullet photos from 1989 and maintaining a strict adherence to the Walmart Paleo Diet should reasonably know. But I don’t. 

Mullet with a pick-up truck. No Dip Sherlock.

I get shit done, but it’s not quite textbook. I tend to nearly electrocute myself. I receive confused and strange looks from passing by pedestrians, who are either amazed at my American Ninja Warrior virtuosity with a ladder and a saw, or are simply amazed at how much of a dumb ass I am. 

When in doubt, I MacGyver it.

If there aren’t any safety glasses, I grab a pair of swimming goggles that are made for an eight-year-old and make me resemble a character from a campy sci-fi flick.

That chainsaw doesn’t work. Let’s sharpen up the Swiss Army knife and get shit done. In fact, I don’t own a Swiss Army knife but I’ve heard handy guys like to carry one around.

That tree or bush that needs to be taken down. I’ll grab a handsaw, blow up the pecs and biceps, and break that motherfucker down. 

Want a stump removed? I can handle that. Watched a YouTube video, realized that it takes no real skill but toil and sweat, and took that bitch down. I vanquished those sassy little bushes that had decided to get all grown up and become some sort of unwieldy trees. I didn’t really vanquish the thorn bush, because I paid a price every time I touched the thing without any work gloves, but it eventually cried, “No Mas.”

And now I walk around looking at shrubs that need a shearing. Lawns and flowerbeds that could use a good Brazilian waxing of their weeds. And marvel at how that house’s mulch neatly frames the perennials. 

And it’s not quite simple. 

Mullet Rock