I know on a few occasions I have picked on the guys a little bit and on a few occasions they deserved it, but I’m here to tell you that there are some occasions where they get very high marks from me.

For example, guys can do things — fix-it-type things, I mean.

It’s strange, but I think it’s the same testosterone that makes guys so flaky that also makes them so mechanically inclined. I don’t think it’s anything that they actually learn as they are growing up. It just seems that once they reach a certain age you can depend on them to fix things that need fixing, not always when you want them fixed, but at least they seem to have a working knowledge of what’s broke.

Since my husband had a stroke, I have come to realize how many things he used to fix that I don’t have a clue about. I always took it for granted that if something didn’t work or something needed to be made, he would just do it. Though it was usually on his terms, in his own good time and with a lot of nagging by me, but eventually it would get done.

Now I find myself dependent on the kindness and availability of other guys, primarily my son and son-in-law.

When my husband was in the hospital several years ago I was faced with the challenge of building a wheelchair ramp for the front steps. The hospital gave me a diagram, which went into slope or grade, angles and strength, on how to build one. They might just as well have given me directions in Greek because it was all gobbledygook, it didn’t mean a thing to me. I was in a near state of panic figuring I would never be able to bring Henry home from the hospital because I wouldn’t be able to get him into the house.

I called my son Doug and asked him about putting a sheet of plywood over the steps. Well, stupid me, what did I know about bending in the middle or how steep a slope that would create.

Fortunately, Doug showed up with wood and tools and created a portable wheelchair ramp. I didn’t even complain that it weighs 3,000 pounds and takes three men and a boy to put it in place. The fact is, he knew how to make one and I didn’t.

If something goes wrong with a woman’s car, she doesn’t ask another woman what might be wrong with it; she asks a guy. And that guy will probably have a pretty good idea what the problem is. In fact, if she asks another guy and yet another guy, they will all have an idea, too. Only they won’t necessarily be the same idea.

If these guys get together to help the lady out, they would all stand around the car looking under the hood and discussing each other’s theories on what’s wrong. They would then scratch various parts of their bodies and proceed to tinker until they fixed whatever was wrong. And that’s the point where they would fix whatever is wrong.

That amazes me. Chances are no one taught them auto mechanics; they just seem to know. They even seem to enjoy it! How they can like getting covered with grease and oil and smashing up their knuckles is beyond me, but they do.

I sure wish I had some of that basic testosterone-induced mechanical knowledge. Then maybe I would be able to hang my new clock. Putting a clock up sounds like a pretty simple procedure, but I have been told, by guys, that because the clock is heavy, I can’t just pound a nail into the wall and hang the darn thing. They say I have to know where the studs are so the clock will have some support. What studs? Where? How do I find them? They also said something about molly bolts or lolly bolts or maybe it was anchor bolts. See what I mean? Guys just know that sort of thing.

That’s not to say that some women are not mechanically inclined. There are some women who actually have as good if not better aptitudes for fixing things than men. But let’s face it, ladies, those women are the exception. Most of us don’t know a socket from a ratchet and have no desire to learn. After all, we do everything else, why should we be expected to be mechanics and carpenters too?

I think men’s ability to fix things and build things is their little insurance policy that women will always need them for something. And they’re right, we do, or at least I do.

The way I see it, if any of you guys are feeling not needed or your masculinity is being threatened by independent women, come on over to my place. I have a clock to be hung, a faucet that drips, a door that sticks and a car that ticks and a few windows in need of replacement. I can promise you that you will never feel as needed.