“She Thinks I’m Handy” – The Lie That Cost Uche His Whole Weekend
Two days ago, I decided I was tired of my apartment looking like a “before” picture on a Home Renovation blog.
You know that depressing beige wall, that shelf hanging like it failed WAEC, and that kitchen cabinet that squeaks louder than my neighbor’s generator?
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Yeah. That one.
So I said to myself:
“Today, I become That DIY person.”
I rolled up my sleeves, tied a scarf like I was going to war, and opened YouTube for DIY Home Improvement tutorials. That was the first mistake.
Just as I brought out my power drill, my phone buzzed.
It was my cousin, Uche.
Uche: “Guy, abeg you dey house?”
Me: “Yeah, why?”
Uche: “I dey come. I need small help.”
Small help? In Nigeria? That phrase never means small.
I started with wall painting because every DIY expert online said it’s the fastest way to transform your space.
The room was hot, my fan was trying its best, and I was sweating like someone who took a loan from an Ikorodu money lender.
As I rolled the paint onto the wall, I stepped back and admired the new sage-green color.
“Not bad,” I said to myself. “This is giving modern minimalist interior design.”
Just then—
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Uche burst in, wearing jeans, Timberland knock-off boots, and holding a backpack like he was escaping from something.
Uche: “Wetin you dey do? This place dey smell like fresh paint.”
Me: “It’s called a budget-friendly home makeover, thank you.”
Uche: “Omo, abeg close the door first.”
He locked it behind him and looked around nervously.
Uche sat down, unzipped his bag, and brought out a—wait for it—broken toilet seat.
Me: “Uche… why are you carrying a toilet seat like handbag?”
Uche: “Guy, long story… Just help me fix am. Please.”
He looked desperate, like a man who had just fought with a landlord.
Me: “Why not call a plumber?”
Uche: “Because the plumber is the reason I’m in this mess!”
Before I could process that, he added:
Uche: “Look, you sabi all these DIY house repair things. Please help me.”
I sighed.
I checked my phone. It was 3:42 PM.
I had time for one more crisis before dinner.
Since I already had my screwdrivers, drill bits, leveling tool, sealant, and “overconfidence,” I became Uche’s unofficial handyman.
We sat on the floor, toilet seat between us like two warriors planning a strategy.
Me: “So what happened to it?”
Uche: “I… uh… sat down too hard.”
Me: “Are you a human being or transformer?”
He ignored me.
I used a DIY bracket replacement hack from YouTube, tightened the screws, and secured the hinges.
It was perfect.
Just as I placed the newly repaired toilet seat aside, Uche’s phone rang.
He froze.
Uche: “Ah! It’s her.”
Me: “Who?”
Uche: “My girlfriend.”
Me: “What does she want with a toilet seat?”
Uche: “It’s… actually hers.”
I dropped the screwdriver.
Me: “Uche… why are you fixing your girlfriend’s toilet seat in my house?”
Uche: “Because she thinks I’m handy and can fix anything! I told her last week that I’m a ‘home improvement expert.’”
Me: “Uche you told a bold-faced lie.”
Uche: “Abeg don’t judge me. She likes guys who can do DIY.”
Before I could laugh, the twist got twistier:
Uche: “She’s outside. She followed me.”
I looked at him like:
Me: “Uche. What???”
And then—
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
He whispered:
Uche: “Please pretend you’re my apprentice.”
I blinked twice.
Me: “Only if she tips me for roleplay.”
His girlfriend walked in—beautiful, confident, smelling like strawberry body mist.
She saw the painted walls, the tools, the toilet seat on the floor…
Her: “Wow… you guys really know what you’re doing.”
Me: fake modesty activated
Me: “We take our home improvement projects seriously.”
She smiled.
Her: “Good… because the shower faucet also broke. And the kitchen drawer needs fixing. And my wall shelves are loose.”
Uche looked at me with fear.
I whispered:
“Congrats. You’ve become her official handyman.”
She clapped happily:
Her: “Great! Let’s go now.”
Uche followed her, carrying the toilet seat like a trophy.
As the door closed, I heard her say:
“Babe, I love a man who builds things.”
And him:
“Ah… yes… that’s me.”
I looked around at my half-painted living room, sighed, and whispered to myself:
“This is why I stick to DIY. Buildings don’t lie to you.”
