Don't tell my husband, but...

I have a crush on Handy Manny.

Ok, so I think The Hub already knows.

I get up most days before him, and he wanders in a sleepy haze out of the bedroom to find me and a giant cup of coffee curled up on the sofa watching TiVo'ed episodes from Playhouse Disney.

I really don't try to hide it. I certainly don't fumble for the remote trying to turn it off. It might be excusable if we had a child, but it is just me and my coffee and Manny.

Don't judge me, join me.

Manny is a cutie pie. He can fix ANYTHING - I mean anything from the town's 100 year old broke-ass historical water well, to a book drop that the children of Sheetrock Hills can't reach, to his Abuelito's garden border and the lazy old guy's will to garden, too. (Did I mention he was bilingual? Oh yeah - Manny hablos the Espanol like crazy.)

He is also polite, concerned and connected in his community, and always willing to offer Mr. Lopehart help, just one more time, though his silly comb-over sporting neighbor doesn't ever accept.

Day after day, Manny pats his "dog" (whatever sweet-tongued Fixit really is) and pulls his gloves on over those perfect cartoon cuticles of his (mmmm, perfect guy cuticles, grrrrrrrrrrrr,) and fixes the problems of his tools, his friends, his town. All while sporting lusty Latin hips.

How do you NOT have a crush on Manny?

Serious.