Mr Fango was at odds with putting a new handle on his axe. It was clear from the language wafting over the fence that he didn’t have much of a handle on fixing the axe to the handle.
“$#$$@*%^$^&,” said Mr Fango as once again his efforts were thwarted.
Partt of my education growing up was listening to Mr Fango. He knew more obscene words than either mum or dad, and they had a pretty good handle on things obscene.
I stuck my nose to the fence to see Mr Fango holding the axe head in one hand and his new handle in the other. For reasons that puzzled Mr Fango the two were refusing to come together.
Later he drove off, I assumed to get help or buy a completely new axe with handle attracted.
When he returned, he did have his axe in one piece. I heard him call to his wife that he’d been back to Gonners our hardware store to get help.
Pretty soon there was the happy sound of Mr Fango splitting firewood, expletive-free.