This NYT article was a revelation to me. For four years now I've tried and failed, sometimes miserably, to get "into" maintaining my three-bedroom torture device.
After reading about other men and their home-ownership woes, I've decided that I just can't get into home maintenance/ownership/decorating/etc., and probably never will.
From day one I've been so averse to any project in my house that I would put off things so long it's embarrassing. For instance: I have a brand-new, in-the-box toilet that's been sitting next to my bed for nearly a year because I can't stomach the thought of trying to install the thing.
A toilet. This is supposed to be easy. Especially for a man.
But I'm sorry, this man is a writer and a hiker and a traveler — and, let's face it, someone with a very fun and very demanding career.
And on its face, the very idea of home-ownership seems completely opposed to every goal I have in life: to be engaged and interested and interesting... to live in many interesting places and pursue lots of interesting activities over the course of my life.
And to me, mowing the lawn or painting the bathroom or installing a toilet ain't that.
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