In the kitchen of a suburban house, a grandmotherly woman lays a crocheted red mask on the Formica table and exclaims, “Oh, the sink’s blocked up, whatever am I do to?” Her husband repairs to the bedroom; dons mask, superhero costume, and tool belt; climbs out the bedroom window, down a ladder into the front garden, waves to a neighbor, and bursts into the kitchen where his wife has cleared the table, strategically placed a pillow on it, fixed her hair and her necklace, and waits. “This looks like job for Handyman,” he says, “Don’t you worry you sweet thing, you.” His tool belt hits the floor just as the tea kettle whistles.