Kristi and I are in trouble. Not the kind where possessed pumas are chasing us on our bikes through a remote wooded area with no chance of us out-running them, or a serial killer pursuing us through a maze-like hallway in a 4 star hotel where all of the employees seem to be taking a mass break or anything, but still.

We can't find a screwdriver small enough to unscrew the last two screws on this picture frame to reorient the wire hanger. This is important because we want to put up this new print that her boyfriend bought before he gets back from getting coffee. He likes this print, but hasn't had time to frame it. We conspire to make his day. This is consuming all our energy, wrought from Subway's delicious Vegie Delights. (I prefer double mayo, Kristi likes double cheese.)

"I've only got this one screwdriver," she said, brandishing the oversized thing at me like a weapon in a street fighting movie.

I'm eye level with the frame, trying to figure out how someone twisted the screws in so tight that they almost touch the mat.

"Don't you have one of those little ones for fixing glasses?" I ask, picking up the picture and shaking it slightly, contemplating hitting it on the edges with a hammer, like you do when you need to get a new jar of pickles open.

"No."

"Oh."

I try a dime, a butter knife, a piece of plastic of unspecified origin, a few more attempts with the too-large screwdriver, and I'm ready to give up.

I blow away the metal shavings that are piling up from my stripping out the screw.

I hear Kristi pulling apart yet another drawer in the hopes of finding something adequate for our hardware needs.

Upon close examination, it appears that the screw no longer has any sort of ledge at all, well, perhaps just a small lip of ragged metal. I think about what it would feel like to have it shoved in my eye.

I get an idea. I pick up the original tool and try to fit the end of it in the sad opening. It fits, sort of. I press down and twist, oh so gently, and feel the victorious sensation of the metal giving way, physics on my side, the torque coaxing the stupid 1/4 inch piece of crap screw from it's cold steel embrace with the frame.

"Hey. I got it."

"What? How?"

"I damaged it to the point where the original screwdriver fit. Are we geniuses or what?"

Or what.