I'm happy to report that not only did I not get a pedicure, my manliness rages on, unimpeded, perhaps even greater than ever.
For example, in the past few months I have completed several major and difficult home improvement projects. For example, I fixed a bunk bed that was critical to the sleeping arrangements of our children. This involved coming up with some creative solutions, then measuring, using power tools, saying 2x4 with the correct inflection, troubleshooting, and trying not to swear on several occasions. I'm happy to report that three months later, the bunk bed is as solid as ever, actually more solid than ever.
But today, I reached a new apogee of manliness (I realize some might quibble with the using the words "apogee" and "manliness" in a non-combative way in the same sentence. For that matter, "quibble." However, I've always maintained that a Y chromosome doesn't mean we need to grunt like cavemen in terms of our vocabularies). I fixed our garbage disposal. It was dead. D-E-A-D. And I fixed it. With a quarter-inch allen wrench, vast amounts of upper body strength, American ingenuity, and the indomitable spirit of my pioneer ancestors, we now have a working disposal. It took me a while and lots of effort, and I had to brave the nether regions of the cabinets under our sink. But I fixed it. Not a plumber, not my brother-in-law. Me.
I want to give a hat-tip to Rob, who I have never met, but who showed me the way on his blog. Rob is now my friend. We've never met, but someday we will. And when we do, it will be an emotional guy meeting. We'll look at each other, nod curtly and say, "Hey." We'll possibly shake hands. That will be enough. We're guys. We fix disposals, bunk beds, and have no need of extraneous words.