I leave the computer room last night and walk past the bedroom to the kitchen. Wait. Stop, go back and look in the bedroom. My husband is standing on the waterbed (no small feat in itself) in his undies with a flashlight tucked in his waistband and a screwdriver in his teeth tearing apart the ceiling fan. In his Hanes. There were fan blades all over the bed and floor and he was peering into the assembly intently.
I start to snicker and he looks at me and says "what?!" while scratching his ear with the phillips head.
Michael Jordan has nothing on him.