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August 22, 2012
POOR MIKE, HE rapped his thumb with the hammer again.

— Is that what that was? We were startled. We thought it was a maniac. I said, “Irving, get the police!”

That was Mike. He was hanging a picture.

— He has the worst luck with tools.

I know it. He was always like that. I’ve given up. He promised me a deck for our anniversary; he wants to build it himself.

— Oh, don’t let him!

I know! I told him, “Mike, you’re not handy. Pay a carpenter! I’ll love it just as much as if it came from you...” No sale.