Some are irreparable. It’s as if you snatched them from the bargain bin at Eddie’s junkyard by the train tracks. Still, you try the tried and true Elmer’s glue and duct tape, shims and string—double knotted. You ask your friends’ advice. They gawk and stare and try to sound hopeful. They talk of home remedies vapor rub and sitz baths, little yellow capsules that helped their cousin’s cousin cure one just like yours. Cannily, you set it aside, in that hard to reach cupboard in the kitchen, as if proximity to Campbell’s chicken soup could cure its commonplaceness, dispel its warts, heal its wounds, and make it sing with joy and sorrow. Too often, there is nothing for it. You dress it in all the finery you can find, pancake on your sister’s makeup, lipstick and a new do, and push it out the door. Gamely, it limps along beside you trying so terribly hard to smile, in the judgement of the light of day.