I married MacGyver. No, no, not Richard Dean Anderson. In fact the only real similarity is that if Darrell grew his strawberry blonde hair a little longer in the back (aka “the mullet”), coloured it a couple of shades closer to sandy blonde and put on a little more weight, he could pass as RDA from the back. Maybe. In a dark street. And no moonlight. 😀
However, I digress! I come from the generation who remember MacGyver either fondly or with a cringe. I admit to being a fondly remembering person, as I spent many an early Saturday evening parked before the TV, marvelling at the concept of being able to create an explosive device from a pound of sugar, some water, duct tape and a swiss army knife. I don’t care that the Mythbusters have probably disproved (exploded?) every last one of the MacGyver methods, I enjoyed the concept that the smart guy could think his way out of any problem without having to whip out a .45 and blast someone’s face to smithereens first. And let’s be frank, MacGyver always reacted as if hitting the bad guy actually hurt his hand – how many of us will clobber someone in the jaw and not react the same? Yikes, I still digress! Physical facsimile attempts aside, Darrell has become my MacGyver. Twice in one day he found a way to fix something on the fly, and all with a length of brass wire and some jewellery-makers pliers. I think if I’d given him duct tape and a swiss army knife, he’d still have managed it. Let me storyboard the MacGyver episodes:
Cue our hero, just out of the shower (dressed already, this is a family show) combing his hair at the bathroom mirror. The door is open so the steam can vent out the open window.
“OK. That’s it. I officially quit.”
“What’s happened?” our hero asks, coming to the bathroom door to find his wife bent over and all but falling into the washing machine. (A feat near impossible as she is of Willendorf proportions)
“Stupid lint catcher thingee fell off again and I can’t get it out!” comes the cavernous reply, accompanied by a waving wooden spoon from the right of the machine. “I quit. I can’t get it out.” Wife levers herself upright and stands in front of the machine, red-faced and irritated.
“Here, let me try.” our hero responds (cue the ‘hero tinkering’ music) and takes the long spoon from his wife’s hand and bends down into the machine. It soon becomes apparent it’s not happening with the spoon, so our hero thinks a moment and then rapidly strides off to the connected garage. (cue ‘hero thinking’ music)
“The BBQ tools are there hon, on the plastic stacker boxes.” points out the wife, who has cottoned on to what he’s looking for by either osmosis or telepathy.
“Thank you.” our hero replies, always polite. Hero again ducks into washer, this time with BBQ fork, skewer and finally tongs in hand and succeeds in extricating the lint catcher thingee to delighted applause and a grateful kiss. (cue ‘hero’s reward’ music) “I’m gonna fix that, because that was nuts.” says our hero once he’s finished snogging his wife some more. (not one to waste an opportunity is our hero!)
“Ok hon.” says smiling wife as she schlepps the BBQ tools to the kitchen to be washed with the dishes.
Hero once more returns to the garage (cue ‘hero thinking’ music again) and emerges a few minutes later with the lint catcher thingee in hand. “Fixed it!” he announces triumphantly, and demonstrates a wire hook mechanism that will hold the lint catcher thingee on the long unit it’s attached to but still allow it to be emptied after every washload. (as per manufacturer’s instructions).
Wife decides a test-run is in order (cue ‘wife is a scientist’ music) and loads the machine with fluffy towels for a wash. 45 minutes later (cut to commercial and use subtitle of ’45 minutes later’ on return) the washer is being emptied of towels and with great jubilation, of lint. Brass wire lint catcher thingee holder a resounding success!
It’s late evening, and our hero and Mrs MacGyver have just decided that back-to-back episodes of ‘Ghost Whisperer‘ are a little too much Jennifer Love Hewitt to cope with over a 2 hour timeframe. An early night is decided on, particularly as our hero is suffering from a nasty chest infection and could probably use the sleep. Mrs MacGyver is stretching in her comfortable chair when our hero strides into the living room (cue ‘hero on a mission’ music), belt undone (pants still fastened and on, family show remember!) muttering “It’s driven me nuts for the last time. Where are the paperclips?” as he dives into the garage again.
“What are you doing?” queries Mrs MacGyver curiously.
“How can I find anything with these stupid magnetic things in here!” our hero exclaims in exasperation. (cue ‘hero’s having a bad day’ music)
“Paperclips? I don’t think we have any dear.” Mrs MacGyver offers, still in the dark as to what’s being repaired now, but resettling in her comfy chair to enjoy the show.
“OK, plan B.” our hero is still in the garage, but emerges again with a length of twisted brass wire and the jewellers toolkit. He settles on the sofa and is soon deftly splicing, twisting and bending a couple of centimetres of the wire (cue ‘hero is making something cool’ music) into something. When it’s finished, our hero grins at his wife and vanishes down the hallway briefly. “HA! It works!” is the triumphant declaration on his return to the sofa, where he immediately cuts 5 more lengths of the wire and repeats the splice, twist and bend routine. Again, he vanishes down the hallway on completion. “Honey, I fixed the bedroom curtain…” is heard from the master bedroom. (cue ‘end credits’ theme)
I married MacGyver. Oh, and he also spent a few years as head cannon firer for a Medieval Renactment Group, so he knows how to blow stuff up properly too…