By Peter Franks
I have a problem. A compulsion, really. It’s not as serious as, say, alcoholism, a food addiction or an unhealthy fascination with Megan Fox. But it’s a problem.
Fortunately, most people are too polite to point it out. Or they don’t even notice. But I do. And it’s bad. If I were a professional woodworker, it’s the sort of thing that could lose me customers.
But here’s the thing: I’m betting you have the same problem.
From the April 2013 issue #203
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