As men we like to fix things. Whether we really can or not we like the challenge. It gives us purpose. A reason for breathing.
The other day I decided to take on fixing a wobbly toilet. This is not a task for the feeble minded. First as a guy getting in and around nether-region splatter is well not my cup of tea. No matter how much of a germaphobe I am. The residue of visitors and guests lingers.
Our house is one of those houses where nothing is as easy as it seems. What should have been just a matter of tightening some screws or maybe adding a shim. Turned into an all day ordeal.

From a broken cast iron flange, failing from age. Then snapping a brittle connecting hose. I was not going to give in easily to this porcelain giant. Hammering and chiseling my way into oblivion. Defeat was not an option, at first.
A couple futile trips to Home Depot and ad-mist frustration. Do I throw in the towel, have I made things worse? Guys don’t ask for directions much less any help. Battered and broken the room a bit more so. Frustrated that I made things worse. Maybe I should have just called the plumber first off I guess.
So I gave in and put up the white flag of surrender. I called in reinforcements and had the experts come out.
When the plumber got to the house

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