Whenever anything is askew, recklessly treated, spilled but not cleaned up or put away in a completely random place, I blame Braeden.
So I sort of blame Braeden for this but it may not be his fault. (None of this may be his fault. Perhaps when he leaves home everything will still be wrecked and I'll have to find a new culprit.)
Anyway, I think it's Braeden's Braeden-ness that made the towel ring in the downstairs bathroom wonky. It was barely hanging on by a thread. One too many yanks on the towel when drying hands. I called Mark inside and showed him the situation and handed him a screwdriver.
He got to work. He disassembled and needed another type of screwdriver for the inner screws (and a chair to stand on so he could see everything from above). Soon enough, it was all reassembled, tight and secure against the wall, as good as new. He called Emma and then me into the bathroom. (Braeden was gone but I am hoping at some point, Braeden will get the same lecture.) He showed us how the towel ring was supposed to be treated and how it wasn't meant to move from side to side. He patted Emma on the shoulder and said, "Tell your friends."
Besides my dad not needing a chair to stand on, it could have been my dad. (Except my dad would have said "Tell all your little friends.")