I don’t like housework, but I do it – albeit sparingly. I’m also not very handy – my last attempt to change a washer to mend a drippy shower resulted in allocating a mortgage payment to Mr. Emergency Plumber. I don’t even like to pick up a screwdriver for fear of the damage I could cause.
So, when my son told me the handle broke off of his toilet, I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. You see, the hubs just left town for a business trip. (For the record, hubs - who grew up in an apartment, is very good at many things and is very good looking, but household repairman is also not a title he holds.) I don’t have to tell you what a tough year we’ve all had financially, so it should be no surprise that our household budget would not allow for calling in a pro this time.
Despite my Mr. Emergency Plumber phobia, I bundled myself up and toddled into Sears Hardware. Lo and behold, there was an entire wall dedicated to toilet repair. Who knew? I chose something simple looking from the wall and $3.53 lighter, I motored back home to see what havoc I could wreak in the boy’s bathroom. I’ll spare you the toilet humor. No muss, no fuss – the old handle simply unscrewed, the new one fit right in and the handle worked!!
What would you do? I, for one, danced around the house with the dog. Since the son was hiding in his room for fear of being sucked into my crazy vortex of glee, I did what any good girl would do. I called my mother. Knowing full well that I’m usually better at signing checks than fixing… anything, she said: “You WHAT? Such a gonsa beryeh! “
Mom wouldn’t call me something bad (especially now that she knows I’ll write about it), but I looked it up anyway.
Beryeh (bear ya) n. Efficient, competent housewife (from Hebrew for Christians)
Gonsa beryeh = Big Efficient, Competent Housewife
Today, the toilet handle. Tomorrow? Where is my power sander? Maybe I’ll even graduate to baleboosteh.
What’s your yiddishology? Leave your comment here, or post to the forum.
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Gonsa beryeh, huh. I am very impressed, cause I know first thing I would do would be to stomp, pick up the phone to call the husband and tell him that he had to leave whatever he was doing to get home to fix the stupid thing. THEN, after he finished yelling at me, I’d probably do the same thing you did. Tell me, though – did you mess up your nails?
Nails? I haven’t had nails since 1989 – the year of the first dog.
Oh yes, the “sainted one” who shall remain nameless. I remember him with a great deal of fondness (as does everyone else). Such a “mensch” that dog was!
The poor replacement dog never stood a chance. Perhaps we should have named that dog Farblondzhet.