(Note: The following snippet probably won't make sense unless you're familiar with the handypenises in my life. Click the link to catch up.)
Recently my daughter Elvira was over here with her fiance Rock Dad and their daughter Coraline. Elvira and I were in the kitchen sneaking chocolate, so Coraline wouldn't ask for any. Rock Dad was playing my piano, which had just been delivered from my old house the week before.
He called in from the parlor, "Hey, Mommers, you know that low F key that was sticking? I fixed it!"
"I thought you and Drake (my son) tried to fix it at Thanksgiving and couldn't figure out what was wrong," I replied.
"We did, and we couldn't. But I fixed it just now." He played a scale.
I rolled my eyes at Elvira and said softly, "He probably fixed it with his penis. It always comes down to the penis. I guess two isn't better than one when it comes to penises."
I called to Rock Dad, "So, what was wrong with the key? How did you fix it?"
"I don't know what was wrong with it," he said. "I just stuck it in really hard, and now it works."
Handypenis to the rescue .... again.
(I regret I was unable to thank Rock Dad due the uncontrollable laughter in the kitchen.)