I am a big strong man. I cut the grass. I read the sports page (admittedly, articles like this). I am the breadwinner (admittedly, foccacia bread). I am a lumberjack and that's ok.
My grandfather, a former engineer for the government during WWII, stopped by our house a few days ago to visit for my birthday and to drop off some extra boxes. Making small talk in a catty sort of way, he asked if our insurance claims representative lived anywhere near our house. When we replied that we didn't know, he said that our roof was in such bad shape, we'd probably lose the insurance, and we should hope that he or she wouldn't have any errands to do in the area.
Fortunately, he was at a garage sale the next day, and picked up more than enough shingles to redo the roof for about $10. And, with two kids who are going to college in a month, now's not really the time for major house repairs.
It is, however, the time to recruit your sissyboy son to climb on the roof and do backbreaking labor.
I'm not sure that there's a computer font large enough to express my displeasure and pain in emoticon form, so you'll have to just imagine a large :( taking over the screen.
