If a designer were to come into our home…and I say “if” because it would be terrifying for me and unnecessary for my wife (because she’s a good designer)…anyway…”if” that were to happen…and I hope it never does…but…if it happened…one of the first things they’d probably say is “you really need to get rid of those greasy shop manuals on your bookshelf”.

They’d tell me that it just doesn’t work for us visually.

Maybe they’d say that it harshed up the ambiance.

I don’t have a garage…so my manuals are on a lower shelf of the bookshelves…greasy and waiting for something to blow up so that I can use them again.

They remind me that I might be able to wrench myself out of a problem if I only have access to the wisdom of the ages found in their greasy pages.

Greasy things in the living room are just the most glaring example of my accumulation that I’d have to get rid of.

I don’t need a greasy and gleaming lighthouse to beaconize what getting rid of my pile of essentials would mean to the gentrification of our living room.

It’s all of my expendable essentials that I’d need the minute we got rid of them.

I guess I could change, though.

I can try.

I would need to “man purge” like the greatest metrosexual who ever walked the planet.

I’d need to trade wrenches and sockets for a special humidity-controlled drawer in the bedroom where I kept my watch collection.

I’d need my own space in the bathroom for all my grooming products.

I’d need to schedule more mani-pedi’s…more manicures and pedicures…(“manipedis”? Maneeeeeee”pete”eeees?!).

I’d need to learn how to smell better.

I’D HAVE TO HIRE A MAN TO DO ALL MY DIRTY WORK!

Scary.

We were eating dinner at the table last night and I looked over to see the VW Beetle manual that I haven’t used since I was in my early 20’s.

It was easier to find a Beetle back then.

It’s not any easier to work on a Beetle now than it was then…but it sure was easier to find one to work on.

“My 20’s” was a while ago.

These manuals are history, though.

Every greasy fingerprint jogs my memory.

Every past repair ties me to a different time.

“Tying me” to a different time doesn’t have a positive effect on my bookshelf design.

Writing about how to avoid people focusing on all my crap doesn’t avert anyone’s gaze, either.

Why do I do this?

I better start designing my watch collection drawer.

I better figure out my revolving tie rack.

I better throw a towel over my greasy shop manuals.

That would work!! A towel! Why didn’t I think of that earlier!

I’m safe again.

I won’t have to learn how to smell better after all!

Wheeeeeeeeee!