Made by a confused man.

I am a man. A confused man. I have put the wet towel somewhere evil. I have heard “I'm fine” and confidently believed it. I have cooked chicken with pure optimism instead of a thermometer. I have looked at a flat-pack instruction like it was an ancient wizard scroll.

The good news: this is not my fault. Man brain simply did not ship with the instructions. It is a big, lovely, simple brain. Brilliant at lifting heavy thing and remembering the football score from 2004. Less brilliant at “which spray go on which surface.” Not a character flaw. Software issue.

And the internet does not help. Man types “how do i” at 11pm and gets a two thousand word life story, four adverts and a wedding photo before the one sentence he needed. So now, every time man finally cracks a thing, man scratches it on the cave wall in small words, with a little proud grunt, so the next confused man can skip straight to the answer and look like he knew all along.

I am not a clever man. I am just one mistake ahead of you, and the mistakes are funny. Do enough of these and man slowly upgrades from “lives in dog house” to “adult who knows where the stopcock is.” The dog is a good boy. The dog is loyal. The dog is, frankly, a terrible host. We can do better than the dog.