Men destroying things

A certain percentage of persons with a Y chromosome see the home as a place to let our their inner child, at least that inner child who feels compelled to take things apart in order to better explore their secret, intricate workings. This enthusiasm on the part of the inner child, and these individuals with Y chromosomes, is unfortunately not equaled by a desire to put things back after they have taken them apart, or to fix things after they have destroyed them.

This tendency is even detected in professionals who supposedly make their living by putting things back together. Let our basement be Exhibit A.

Some time ago, 10 months to be precise, Joe determined to free our hidden fireplace from its confines of drywall, plaster, dead animal bones, etc. Once the fireplace was freed, the spirit of liberation caught fire and he moved on to freeing the wood beams in the ceiling -- in the process also liberating various electrical lines dating to the Eisenhower era, attractive water and sewer pipes, etc. -- as well as crumbling brick and stone behind several walls. In this effort he was joined by several professionals. When it was done, they all stood around admiring the disaster zone they had created.

And then the pros left.

Three months ago.

The basement remains a condemned area, despite our having six additional professionals come to give us an estimate on making it all look nice again. "Cool," they say when they see it. Then they immediately erase all memory of us and our project from their minds, and are never heard from again. When we attempt to locate them, we are met with increasingly unhelpful voice messages:

"Hi, this is Frank of Wally's Destruction and Sometimes Remodeling. Leave a message and I'll return your call."

"Hi, this is Frank. Business is very busy right now, but if you leave a message I might get back to you."

"The number you have called is no longer in service. No such person as Frank exists. Do not bother him anymore."

I'm sure somebody somewhere has done research on this compulsion to leave things in a state of chaos. Perhaps someday scientists will come up with a cure, maybe a pill that afflicted Y-chromosome carriers can take apart and swallow the pieces individually ("Pill must be disassembled with a single open-jaw drive torque wrench [with angled handle]").

Until then, I am considering taking the prudent step of hiding all our tools of destruction, so that no more can occur. But it may not be necessary. We can't find anything in all the mess anyway.