Being any good at anything that resembles "domesticisty."
As an example for you this fine day I offer this pictoral piece of evidence:
Now while you are wondering what you are looking at, and why you are looking at that random assortment of crap I would like to blow your mind.
It was in the couch.
Not just under the cushons, I am not that bad. Shit, I have needed spare change plenty of times in the last decade of that couche's existance to have lifted the cushions in hopes of a Dr. Pepper from Circle K.
No, my couch eats things. It once tried to eat my Great Dane's leg, no joke.
This was all in the frame of it.
In case you are not yet impressed with my complete bad-ass-ness yet, please direct your attention to the top leftish of the picture.
See the pacifier?
That was Meatball's.
He is eleven.
Boom!