I still have my twelve inch ballcock.

Just writing those words makes me want to reach down and adjust my "package". Except, being a woman and all, I have no package. Life can be cruel sometimes.

Remember, you read that stunning insight here first.

I have always felt an odd mix of repulsion and curiosity about the whole adjusting the package ritual. Do "the boys" need it? Do they get restless? Why do some men seem to do it constantly? I mean, don't they realize that They Are Touching Themselves In Public?

It's one The Great Mysteries as far as I'm concerned.

Now where was I? Oh yes, my ballcock.

The spousal unit, being a committed handy guy, is deeply, deeply impressed with the new toilet gadget I bought yesterday.

Sadly, something needed fixing at his mom's place last night so he inhaled his supper and worked down there for several hours. The spousal unit was just too tired to turn his attention to the new gadget when he got home, but he's promised to look it over tonight

(This would be the part where we cue the theme from West Side Story. "Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night ...")

He said that if the directions aren't too complicated, he'll even install it!

I know. I can feel your shock, eh. Yes, I am married to the one man on the planet who Reads The Directions First. He's kind of like the East German women's swim team back in the day -- you know that you're looking at an aberration and that perhaps chromosomal testing of some sort is in order, but, well What Can You Do?

That's how it is when you love someone. You accept them as they are even if it means you have to overlook something on the scale of the reading the directions first anomaly.

BUT if he ever starts that whole "adjusting the package" dealie, well ...

--Marn