I'm Your Handy-Man

So yesterday I had to fire the handy-man. Well, technically he hadn't even begun the few odd jobs we had enlisted him to do to prepare our house for the legions who we expect will file through it looking for signs of abuse - and no papers had been signed - just a walk-through of the problem areas and a pleasant enough conversation. He had been recommended by an acquaintance and while I am sure he would have been fine - a Google search uncovered his major claim to fame was writing a book about his memories in his mother's womb. (He hails from a Maritime province - I don't know if that is a "thing" there...no offence to those from the Maritimes!) How this qualified him to repair our broken tap I do not know - so honestly we went off him a bit, not to mention the time and cost estimate seemed a little excessive - except, of course, if you were a Saudi Prince or a Kardashian. So I went back begging to the one person who I know can accomplish these tasks in his sleep - a master craftsman with rock-bottom prices whose previous jobs are too many to list - my dad. If, like me, you are neither handsome nor handy, it is best to rely on the professionals.