Klutz denial

There have been recent allegations that I am in many ways an incompetent klutz, unable to undertake successfully the simplest of household repairs. Despite being one of the authors of these allegations, I am pleased to offer a categorical refutation based on recent successes with my trousers.

During the winter I prefer to wear cordoroy pants as they keep my legs warmer, and they are also washable, and do not show much innate grubbiness. I also use a belt, instead of suspenders to prevent the collapse of the aforesaid trousers down to my ankles.

I was very bored with having to frequently replace these belts, when the holes became enlarged and resulted in breakage, I was also annoyed by periodically having to create new holes. I was therefore delighted to see in my favourite Canadian Tire Store a new design of belt, that did not have holes, but ridges that were caught by the buckle structure, making the infinitely adjustable. Unfortunately the teeth on the buckle stop catching on the belt after a while as the end of the belt gets fatigued. This results in the buckle, and sometimes the trousers, falling off. In a stroke of genius I cut off half an inch of belt to get the grip back, it worked brilliantly. The only snag is that I will have to reduce my waist by half an inch every time the problem returns.

You may say, that the button at the top of the trouser fly would prevent the collapse of leg protection and public indecency. Unfortunately the button holding the top together is made of metal, and has worn out both the button hole and the cloth beyond it. Another disaster, calling for another stroke of genius. I bought some upholstery thread, and stitched back and forth where the end of the button hole would be, so I now have a new hole for the button. After four days it is still holding.
I am not a klutz, but a sane practical genius.

I spoke too soon, I went out in the car to go skiing, and when I arrived at my destination I discovered that I had left the boots at home. I went home, put on the boots, and tried again. I found that I had my wife’s skis, and not mine. I came home to make dinner and realised the slow cooking was because the pan was on the wrong burner. Clearly my pride led to my fall.