Dogs Can't Play Poker... That's Why it is Genius

I have been feeling increasing masculine lately.  If you have been in the same room as me in the last week you have probably seen it exude from me, or you might have smelled a faint odor, or possibly simply noticed an aura around me.  That my friends is testosterone.

You see this week, I have been working feverishly in our extra bedroom to get it ready for our house guests that will be coming next week.  I have been cutting wood and placing dry wall like a master craftsman.  I dare say if Leonardo DiCaprio DaVinci, were fortunate enough to see my work, he would look back at his own work and say "it's okay... I guess".  

But I would tell him, "no, you are a pretty good artist".  

And he would say, "no, what you do is art, what I do, well now, it is just doodles on paper."

And I would say, "well there is certainly room for improvement in a lot of your work, you can tell where you were just rushing to get done, and you certainly have sort of creepy fixation with naked people, but your piece with the dogs playing poker, well that Leo, that is a masterpiece."  And he will blush and stammer on a little bit and I will have  to break the awkwardness that follows flattery by saying something derogatory about Italians.

Not only did I basically put an addition on my house this week (while working full time), but I also found time to take the carburetter out of my Volkswagen.  I mean, expletive, I am pretty tough these days.  There was another time this week when Misty and I were driving in the Impreza and I noticed that the car was running hot, so I very calmly said, "Misty, why don't you pull over to the gas station so I can take a look under the hood".  I opened the hood and pointed to the engine and said "what do you see".

She shrugged "an engine".

"Wrong answer" I say, "no carburetter... its fuel injected... duh I can't believe you didn't know that".  I than proceed to let her know we need coolant "stat".  After purchasing the coolant I proceed to pour it all over the engine.

"I don't think that's not how it works" Misty said.  She doesn't know anything about cars.  She's a girl.

Anyways, as I was pulling out my carbs (that's short for carburetters), I could not help but feel bad for all my ex girlfriends and my brother's wives.  I think they must writhe in jealous agony and scorn my dear wife Misty for her good fortune in marrying such a manly man.

Back to that bedroom.  It was somewhat surreal to work on it.  I could not help but think, soon this will be a child's room.  It is empty now, but before too long, the floor will be covered with toys, the bed will be an unmade and a little Berry bean will take pride in having his own room.  I am constantly advocating for our adoption, but it is in moments like this where the reality of it all really strikes me.