Handy man I am not

I'm sure I've mentioned once or twice before that I'm not much of a handy man. My grandpa has awesome woodworking skills. My dad was always a darn good handy man around the house. You'd think between the gene pool and all those long hours I spent handing my dad tools and listening to his explanation of how to use the tools, SOME of it would have rubbed off on me.

At last night's cub scout meeting, our mission was to build a bird house.

First, I would like to present Exhibit A.

Exhibit A.

Looks simple enough, doesn't it?

Please note it says, "Fun & easy to build."

Ummm... Not so much.

The nails that came with this kit were about as strong as a piece of leftover spaghetti, and the wood for the red end pieces was hard as granite. The nails would NOT go into the wood.

Allow me to present Exhibit B.

Exhibit B.

"Fun and easy to build"???

HA!!!

In my defense, this problem was not isolated to me. All five of us dads experienced a smashed finger or thumb at some point as our boys banged away with the hammers. Only two father-son teams were able to finish their bird houses. The other three teams were left frustrated and annoyed.

Maybe I could sue the manufacturer for emotional trauma and become a millionaire like the McDonald's hot coffee lady. I'm kind of surprised given the silly legal disclaimers on every other product sold in America that there weren't any on this birdhouse package.