At large: So much for that bright idea

There is a gene inside all humans and it is called the DIY component.
It is a mysterious thing which comes in a variety of strengths according to the individual's DNA make-up.
Some people boast very strong DIY genes ... they are the ones who particularly frustrate me as they have the ability to create or repair anything.
I know some blokes who can simply look at a broken section of weatherboard and, without applying a tape measure, can skill-saw a replacement section which will fit perfectly.
I know people who can build shelves which, unlike my efforts, possess right-angles. And the books stay on them.
I have a book called Do It Yourself which I got for Christmas once ... probably with good intentions but in the passing of time it has actually become more like a stand-up comic script.
For the gene of DIY in my body is very small, and without right-angles.
I try, I do my best, but once I'm engaged on a "project" I quickly realise I shouldn't be.
To put it simply ... you've either got it or you haven't.
You are either skilled or scuppered. I am the latter.
Here is the proof.
It happened last Tuesday.
I decided the globes atop the light bulbs in the living room could do with a wash. They'd dusted up a little so I took out the bulbs, unscrewed the fittings, and carefully took them all down.
Warm, soapy water and a careful wash ... and then I broke one. Two segments of fragile glass settled on the bottom of the sink.
Replacing it would involve time and money ... so I followed the advice of my DIY gene.
"Super glue," the little vice told me (and I thought I detected a chuckle in there).
So I shot up town and bought a super-glue kit.
There were pictures on the packet showing a Mercedes Benz, a violin and a baseball glove.
No broken lamp glass but I figured if it would piece together a broken 450SL then it'd do the trick.
"Keep out of reach of children", I noticed on the packet.
Made sense.
So I got to work ... re-attaching the broken globe to its fitting and preparing to glue and place the two cleanly broken slices to it ... rather than risk it breaking again by gluing first then trying to attach the whole thing.
I pierced the tube and smeared a strip of the evil-smelling "cyanocrylate" along the glass edge. I slotted it in, held it in place, and it worked. So I smeared the second bit and shoved that in and it too stuck fast and quickly. I held it in place between thumb and finger for a minute to give it plenty of adhesion.
It worked very well ... so well I was now firmly attached to the glass globe.
My left thumb and forefinger had been introduced (by that old cupid called Cyanocrylate) and had accordingly entered into marriage with the light.
"Oh," I said as I considered my dilemma.
I was well and truly stuck, with my efforts in trying to prise my digits apart causing some discomfort.
The antidote and answer would likely be on the packet, I concluded. But it was on the kitchen table ... a distance my DIY genes estimated to be about 5.3m away.
Then I remembered that a solvent such as nail-polish remover would likely create the appropriate divorce my fingers required. That item, however, was up on a dresser ... my estimate being 22.7m away.
I could call someone.
Phone? ... 6.4m away.
Cellphone? No idea where I'd left it.
I would have to wait until my wife returned home ... estimated time of arrival however was some two hours and 35 minutes and my arm, raised and stuck at face level (and with me on the third rung of the ladder) was starting to get tired.
That's when I started to laugh, although it didn't really help.
I watched a couple of people outside walk by. Should I call out?
Oh, there's never a fireman in your front room when you need one.
Standing there, with glued fingers and aching arm, I killed time by trying to think of records with glue in them. Sticky Fingers by the Stones. Stuck in the Middle With You by Steelers Wheel.
But only three minutes had passed so I did what my dodgy DIY genes told me to do. I gritted my teeth (like the bloke who cut his trapped arm off in that movie) and tore the finger and thumb apart from the glass. It hurt and skin was sacrificed so a plaster was acquired. As was wisdom ... for in future I would take preventive measures ... I'd get someone else to do it.
FOOTNOTE: Mission accomplished? Well, ahhh, the first thing the missus said when she got home was "what the hell happened to the light?"
*Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.