LEBOGANG MOKOENA | My toolbox is bigger than yours

I have a sneaking suspicion the missus has a trove of statements at the ready to get me to do things around the house.

Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means a slouch when it comes to housework. I am the proud owner of a toolbox, a drill, an electric sander, an angle grinder, garden sheers, a trimmer and a lawnmower. If anything, I am the envy of my peers and a prime example of a good husband.

However, this was not always the case, and I think I know why.

There is nothing more annoying than having a neighbour with a beautiful garden and a garage full of do-it-yourself tools. Trust me, they are the worst. You would think that having a neighbour with a loud stereo system would drive you to the edge, and that might be true, but wait till the missus says: “What a lovely garden Vusi has, don’t you think?”

Those words will prompt even the most languid of men into action. And of course, these words are delivered on a beautiful Saturday morning following a week of replying “Kind regards” to strange requests.

I’m sure we have all been rudely awoken by the sound of a top-of-the-line lawnmower roaring to life at 7am on a weekend, the culprit being your DIY-crazed neighbour Vusi tending to his immaculate lawn. Vusi also services his own car and struts around in a Comrades Marathon finisher's T-shirt, has a head full of hair and owns several pairs of jean shorts. An all-round terrible human being.

It is the above events that contributed to this writer traversing the isles at Builders Warehouse on the East Rand at 8am on a Saturday, furiously searching for a metal drill bit and screw extractor. The night before I was the recipient of the words “Can you call that handyman to fix the washing machine?” I swore that day to never let another man enter this house to do what YouTube can guide me through.

No screw, pipe or appliance will be spared from the fire and brimstone I will be dishing out. Vusi will rue the day he fired up that lawnmower

To date I have fixed door handles, sanded down woods of varying textures, fixed leaking geysers, replaced toilet gaskets, cleared clogged refrigerator drip-pan hoses, painted walls, paved walkways, wired electrical lines, calibrated DStv decoders, assembled trampolines and shoved my fist down clogged plumbing. All in the name of love.

I did, however, meet my and YouTube’s match with our washing machine. I am convinced the appliance is possessed by some ancient anti-DIY spirit sent my way by that jean short-wearing charlatan named Vusi.

I tried everything and even went through all the stages of grief. I denied that there was an issue; I mean why would it just break out the blue? I kicked, banged and shook the bloody thing, to no avail. I prayed to the Lord that there might be a loose fitting somewhere that I would just push in and voilà!

But depression soon took hold when I saw that nothing was working and I would have to make the call. But I didn’t accept defeat, instead I blamed the soap manufacturer for using too much chlorine and causing the drive mechanism to clog.

I was at my wits' end and sheepishly took the easy way out. The new washing machine arrived two days later, and like any self-respecting DIYer would do, I read the instruction manual, hid it, blamed the supplier for sending something without the necessary documents, and then assembled it to the applause of my wife and daughter.

Seeing that we are firmly into the colder period of the year, I am slowly building my arsenal for the coming spring and summer months. No screw, pipe or appliance will be spared from the fire and brimstone I will be dishing out. Vusi will rue the day he fired up that lawnmower.