Where Not To Retire

I can't say that I understand the allure of Arizona to so many retirees. It's a great place to go to get out of the cold, but how people can actually live there is beyond me. Anyway, I just returned from a week of basking in the relentless Arizona sun where I definitely did NOT purchase the above property. And guess what's still sitting on the back of the downstairs toilet? The replacement parts I bought several weeks ago...still in their packages, waiting for "someone" to install them. To be fair, it IS bow season in Michigan. That means Handy spends his weekends precariously perched in a tree somewhere, waiting for a deer to help himself to the feast of apples and corn piled nearby. The way this works is, many weeks before it's legal to shoot a deer, the baiting begins. That gets the deer accustomed to visiting the bait pile on a regular basis, unaware that they're being set up. Although, you'd think after awhile they'd get the hint that if it's not a corn field, don't eat the corn! Also during this time, Handy washes all his hunting clothes in a detergent that smells like dirt and sprays them with a cologne that smells like deer pee. Go figure. At that point, I try to get as far away from here as possible until it's safe to come back. If I do happen to come home for a few days (like now), I'm not allowed to touch anything related to hunting for fear of getting something that smells nice all over it. For example, if I applied hand lotion after showering and happened to retrieve a pair of dirt-washed socks from the floor, I would contaminate them and Handy would have to start over with the laundry routine. The horror. For a long time, I used to believe that hunters walked out into the woods, shot a deer, dragged it to the camp, and day was done. But I have since discovered that a large part of the deer hunting ritual is that you have to get up in your tree early in the morning and hold still, barely breathing, for many hours and then MAYBE a deer will accept your invitation to dinner so you can shoot it upon its arrival, which, come to think of it, hardly seems fair.
So back to the issue of the downstairs toilet. Since it is highly unlikely that hubby is going to even think about fixing it while he's so intently focused on being quiet in that tree, I thought I might just go ahead and do it myself. I mean, right on the box it says, "Install with confidence! Installs in 15 minutes!"  So I get out the instructions, and I swear to god, here they are:  "1. Adjust Height.  2. Install.  3. Connect."  Huh?!  Adjust height of what? First of all, how do you get the water out of the tank? Isn't that a prerequisite?
I guess the toilet will have to wait. I'm off to see my grandkids. They would never have the patience to sit in a tree for more than five minutes.