But alas, I was a kid and that was my job. And I was VERY good at it. Not as good as my brothers (who ripped my parent's carpet into two during a wrestling match), but good enough. I even broke a few bones to keep my ranking up. Or down. Or--whatever. You get the idea.
And that got me to thinking. Surely we're not the only ones who have stories to tell. Windows to fix. Light fixtures to pay for (that was my brother's fault, I swear).
So let's hear it. Because this is the stuff great stories are made of (and fodder for novels)! What have YOU done (that you're willing to admit to). And remember to keep it clean, cause honestly we've already dealt with the messes once, folks. Let's not add to it shall we?