This post may contain affiliate links. Please read our disclosure for more information.
Mrs. Groovy here. I bet you thought this post was written by Mr. Groovy. But nope. Although my husband is a manly man, today we bring you a post from the manliest of men, Crispy Doc.
Crispy Doc is a financially independent emergency physician who blogs over at Crispydoc.com. He’s in his mid-40s, married with kids, and lives in coastal California. At an earlier point in his career he decided he wanted out of medicine—but learning to manage his money has empowered him to design a flexible career instead.
Crispy Doc first came to my attention several months ago via his witty comments on our posts. I became intrigued by his way with words and began reading his blog. I’ve been hooked ever since.
Take it away, Crispy Doc.
I was not what one would call a natural born handy husband. Once, when we had a couple of burly guys over to repair an appliance, one of them asked to borrow a hammer. I brought him a dainty number with a yellow plastic handle, an obvious component from a “free tool kit” giveaway.
My less than macho hammer had sufficed to hang up an occasional framed poster in college, but it did not impress Click and Clack. Based on their facial reactions, they may or may not have kicked the ass of someone that once used a similar tool in their former high school incarnations, before their livelihood depended on the ass-kickee’s largesse.
As I’ve written about previously, one of the benefits of putting my financial house in order is that I have cut my shift load dramatically in order to pursue my greater priorities (think family, personal growth, and meaningful relationships). One of the unexpected fruits of the pursuit of financial independence is that the extra time and interest in learning new skills has conferred upon me a bare bones competence for simple repair projects around the house.
I realize that for many readers, this is like saying I’ve finally learned how to microwave ramen or assemble an Ikea chair, but from my starting place of ignorance it’s been a welcome transformation.
It’s a bittersweet victory to observe my wife’s response to malfunction transition from, “We need to call the guy who fixes that,” to “You need to fix that.”
I am not ashamed to admit to feeling equal parts pride and regret when she says that.
Case Study Number One: Digital Display Done Died
The digital display for our stainless steel oven went out, rendering it inoperable. After recalling the recent $300 appliance repair bill I’d paid for our washing machine, I decided against outsourcing this one. The replacement panel alone looked like a $200 online purchase if I could track it down—it was ten years old and the odds were low.
I dug out the manufacturer’s operating instructions and contacted the service rep by email. After a few exchanges, she agreed to send me a replacement since they had one sitting in the warehouse, even though it wasn’t covered under warranty (Thank you, Sandy at Dacor, for restoring my faith in human kindness!).
Next, I watched a few YouTube videos, using trial and error to figure out the terminology that would prompt the appropriate tutorial.
I waited for a morning where the family was out of the house, sorted through the connections, and voila, fixed! I could feel the new chest hairs sprouting.
Case Study Number Two: Busted Window Screens
We’ve had poor experiences with handy men in our area despite using recommendations from friends. Again, a little time on YouTube and a run to the hardware store and I was ready to go…except that my wife grew concerned that the graphite fiberglass I’d chosen would not perfectly match the charcoal on the existing screens.
Repeating the mantra, “Happy wife, happy life,” under my breath, I accompanied my wife on a second and then a third trip to two additional hardware stores until she agreed that the original screen materials I’d purchased were adequate. The single screen I replaced put such a smile on my wife’s face that I let her persuade me to buy industrial size rolls of fiberglass screen material and splining with plans to replace two screens a week until we’ve replaced them all.
Granted, it’s created more work for me, but I intend to repeat my mantra until I firmly believe it. I can assure you that cheerfully doing repairs you deem lower priority while chanting my mantra is cheaper than divorce.
Case Study Number Three: Stripped Screws Securing a Clogged Shower Drain
Our master bath had begun resembling a kiddie pool after our last several showers, and instead of accepting as inevitable that $100 bill from a plumber, I decided to become a home repair vigilante and take matters into my own hands.
Unfortunately, after a couple of attempts with the drill (that’s right, I’m a big shot with a drill thanks to a thoughtful birthday gift from my in-laws), the two screws holding the drain in place were completely stripped. Again, back to YouTube to try the rubber band technique, various iterations of liquid wrench, all to no avail.
Finally I found a video demonstrating a set of specialized drill bits that promised to core out and re-thread the center of the screw, and then use a companion bit to bite into that newly threaded core and remove the stripped screw. Figuring $7.99 was still 90% cheaper than a plumber, I ordered via Amazon, and a couple of days later I had that pesky screw removed!
Subsequently unclogging the drain even led us to discover a ball of hair that I am convinced represents my wife’s long lost twin sister. It left me feeling fortunate, as I married the better looking of the two.
Conclusion
In conclusion, pursuing FI has given rise to my inner curmudgeonly building superintendent, developing useful skills and enlarging my scrotal musculature.
With time, a bit of online self-education, and the can-do attitude that characterizes a growth mindset, you too can develop comparable gonads of steel!
Mr. Groovy here. Oh, man, did I get a CMLT reading this post. “Click and Clack,” “malfunction transition,” “sprouting chest hairs,” “long lost twin sister,” “scrotal musculature”—this post had so many memorable phrases, I feel guilty publishing it. I mean, c’mon. This is Rockstar worthy stuff. And why should my blog be the recipient of the inevitable traffic spike when this post is featured on that great curation site? Talk about outrageous fortune! I owe you, CD. If it’s any consolation, your “scrotal musculature” puts mine to shame. There’s no way I would have ever tackled a busted digital display on an oven. You’re a far better man than I. Bravo, sir. Bravo.
Leave a Reply to the Budget Epicurean Cancel reply