Mrs Greencloud
She's a whiz at cleaning, ace at nagging, she even cooks pretty well. The one thing I truly fear is her attemting DIY again.

Painting.
When nought but a young pair of frisky teens, we moved in together. The place needed some decorating etc. and with my technical savvy, natural aptitude for such and keen eye for detail we set forth. The problem came about when I'd been at work one Sunday. I went to the toilet not long after returning home and noticed some paint finger-marks on the bathroom sink.

Curious as to why a colour of paint I'd used a fortnight previously and not again since had suddenly appeared on the sink, I investigated further. She had began to paint a room with about a teacup-full of leftover paint (retained for touch-ups). She'd managed to spill / run / dribble most of that over the doorframe, skirting and lightswitch.
She is no longer allowed to paint without supervision.


Electrics.
Being a typical lazy bloke watching DVDs at home alone while she was at work, I was startled by a sudden flash. It appeared that a chinese stand-off between heavily armed papparazzo had come to a dramatic end. I pulled up my pants quickly and went to find the cause of the blinding blip. Before even fully ascending the stairs, I found it. There was an 18 inch teardrop shaped carbon-based mark on the wall above the socket where her hairdrier was plugged in.

I switched off the mains and returned to see what was wrong. That didn't take long either. The cable on the 'vanity gun' was almost completely severed, held together only by a few ml of plastic. She'd been using this thing immediately on exiting the bath, while still soaking wet. Every day.

When she got home, I showed her the offending article and admonished her with an informative yet stern lecture on electrical safety and the risks of electrocution and fire. I would obviously have to fix the thing for her. Upon retrieving my toolbox, I noticed that all but one of the fuses were gone (I had an unopened packet of 6 or so). She'd been changing the fuse on the hair-frier rather frequently lately as it was constantly going on the fritz.
More lecturing ensued and she is now disallowed from any electrical operation beyond the insertion and removal of plugs from sockets.


Drilling.
After all of the above, I dare not let her too close to powertools. I would have to be careful. I needed to drill a hole right through the exterior wall to run a cable to the shed. Fearful of 'blowing' the front off a brick upon emergence of the drillbit, I asked her assistance. Her simple task was to hold a piece of thick ply hard against the wall outside and shout very loud at me to stop once she felt the drillbit push through.

All went well, except I didn't hear her shout and stopped drilling only when I felt no more resistance. She related to me while I applied germolene and bandages that "the drill had come right through the wood, so when it stopped I tried to push it back through". I think the second degree burns on her palms helped teach her about the principles of friction.


Thankfully, now that we have little-cloud she has remained indoors while I've been pouring concrete, bricklaying and swinging a pick-axe around to landscaps the garden, I would hate to think what/who she could damage.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 4 Apr 2008, 16:05, 1 reply)

dispraxic?
just like 2ndmrsblaireau69. personally i reckon the word flongtard sums it up!! (that'll be FLiddy mONG 'TARD if you want to know)
love her to bits (i really do!!!!) but in the last couple of years she has broken more stuff than you could possibly imagine, set fire to the chimney TWICE(!!!), killed 3 kettles, boil washed my favourite wool jumper and totally fucked my best Global knife by using it to open wallnuts. astounding!!
i really don't know how she does it!!
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Fri 4 Apr 2008, 23:43, closed)