There is something to be said for being “handy.” To me, being “handy” is some simple tool or device that fits perfectly for the little task at hand, say for instance … a bulldozer.

“Man, I never would’ve been able to clear out my flowerbed without that bulldozer!” Handy, indeed.

I have found that Q-tips, with a little spit on the end, stick down into the carriage of an Xbox machine very well.

They squeeze into that tight little spot where the lens is and scoot just enough dust out of the way so your anxious child can get back to the task at hand. Q-tips. Mighty handy.

Hubs considers himself to be handy. Says he is a “handy man.” Hmmm. OK, I’ll give him that. He’s handy for opening jars. I like having him handy when those big brown bugs come creepin’ around. I have found that he’s handy when I need him to do a favor for someone else. And he’s usually pretty agreeable. That’s handy.

And he can sure fix anything in a snap with a piece of duct tape. Or is it “duck” tape? You know, that grayish ultra sticky tape? He once duct taped Sunnybuns eyebrow when he fell and gashed it good. I was appalled, as I was still in shock at the severity of the wound, to see Hubs come running out of the laundry with scissors and a big fat roll of tape in his hands.

“No!” I screamed, “I have to take him for stitches!!” It was a knee-jerk reaction to Hubs’ inclination to be cheap (cough!cough!), I mean thrifty.

He explained quickly, while expertly snipping and plastering, that it would hold until we got him to the emergency room, a half hour drive away. It actually managed to hold for two hours, the time it took for them to get him back to see the doctor. That duct tape was sure handy that day!

Mind you, he can lay a floor, paint, tile, do plumbing, hang a light fixture…all that stuff that I can’t do. That’s handy.

With that being said, what is it about him that he can do all that stuff, and among his myriad of tools and devices that I never know what’s what or where it is, he cannot find his glasses? Ever. Or his shoes. How does he manage to get his handy work done when he has no eyes or feet?

Last week I went ’round the house doing what I do, and found 16 pairs of dollar store glasses. I put them into a bin on top of the fridge and said, “Right up there. Some are missing an arm, some are missing a lens, but they are all right there. It’s handy little bin within reach.”

This morning I heard him hollering down the hall, “Queen! Oh my Queen! Where are all my glasses?”

I walked down the hall and managed to somehow work my way down to the floor and looked under his chair and the couch. Twelve pair. Another two had worked their way down the sides of his chair cushion.

“I might suggest looking under your truck seat for the other two,” I told him.

He beamed proudly and said, “You’re so handy to have around.”

I nodded in agreement.

This afternoon, I finished my first “handywoman” project. I expertly snipped and plastered 12 pairs of dollar store eyeglasses to his ballcap. With duck tape.