Gerald had spent three weeks trying to remodel his kitchen, and all he had managed to do was accidentally remove a load-bearing wall, install the dishwasher upside down, and glue his left hand to a cabinet door.
His neighbor, Dolores, watched from the doorway with the expression of someone witnessing a slow-motion avalanche.
"You should enter the county home improvement contest," she said cheerfully.
Gerald looked at her through a haze of sawdust. "You want to nominate me? For what, exactly? Worst renovation in recorded history?"
"Obviously," said Dolores.
The contest judge arrived on Tuesday — a tall, thin man in a dark coat who somehow reminded Gerald of a reaper harvesting the last sad remains of Gerald's dignity. The man walked through the kitchen without speaking, occasionally writing something in his notepad with the grim efficiency of someone documenting a crime scene.
Then came the moment that nearly broke Gerald entirely. On the counter sat a fresh lemon meringue pie Dolores had brought over, golden and perfect. The temptation was overwhelming. Gerald reached for it with his free hand — his other was still glued to the cabinet — just as the judge turned around.
"Sir," the judge said, peering over his glasses, "is your hand attached to that cupboard?"
"Architecturally, yes," Gerald replied, fork in hand.
There was a long pause.
"Congratulations," the judge said finally, scribbling on his pad. "I've never seen anything like this. You've won."
Gerald took a triumphant bite of pie. Some men had talent. Gerald had something better.