It's time to rewrite my match.com profile. It should read 'own a pair of channel locks or go away'. And while we're at it, what else have you got in your tool box I might want appreciate and are you comfortable enough with yourself to not blink if I get excited over a blade for a circular saw that can cut through quarter inch steel?
I'm living in the wrong part of the country and it becomes starkly apparent each time I learn a new trick involving something other than lipstick or ask for a fencing tool at a local contractor supply chain.
I replaced the most recent ex-husband's dead first ex-father-in-law's thirty year old Black & Decker circular saw on the grounds that the blade was shot and there was no way in hell I was getting the rusted, fused bolt off to change the blade without stripping that thingie that holds the blade beyond all recognition (I don't know it would come off anyway but maybe I'll take it with me next time I drive South 660 miles to get my hatchet sharpened. You think I'm joking). I'm keeping it anyway as backup or parts or just garage decor or maybe a center piece at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Anyway, I was dressed for work; that means I looked traditionally pretty and like maybe I could keep my finger nails clean for more than ten minutes and I don't exactly stagger around in my two and three quarter inch heels (now THAT would make one hell of a calendar shot, heels and a circular saw and a big assed grin and not a whole lot more oh STOP IT, Alecto) so this must be exactly who I am, right?
I have talked to this man for twenty minutes about what I'm doing and with what and how and all that and I can see white noise filling his head because it's just not connecting for him. Blah blah blah go away lady and send your husband in here next time so I don't have to deal with returns because you don't have a clue what he's really doing and if he had any balls at all he'd have come in himself. You know, if I go in there today (and I just might) and ask for a pair of channel locks, guess what? Yeah, exactly.
It finally came down to biting the bullet and buying the new saw and the additional blade for cutting steel bars (SEE? I wasn't THAT bonkers to use the circular saw) and I was very excited and happy and you'd have thought I'd just purchased a brand new fur coat or a pair of Jimmy Choos or something like that if you weren't taking into account the lumber yard/tool and heavy equipment emporium.
He asked if I needed someone to carry the saw in it's box to my car. My jaw dropped. Blink, blink. I was about to start laughing and say, yes, please! when he stopped himself and said, wait, if you can handle fencing you can carry a circular saw and he did not, and I give him some credit, end the sentence with 'little lady' but he might as well have. I grabbed the thing off the corner and left the store. I thought about staggering a little for effect and maybe twisting off one heel but decided I wouldn't be doing myself any favors by being remembered (I do have to go back there periodically).
Oh God. And then there was the guy who kept bringing me little nails. I needed more fencing nails. The kind that are u-shaped and galvanized and you just hammer the suckers right into trees or posts and the heavier the fence the bigger the nail. He brought out the equivalent of bent brads; darned cute they were but for what? Oh wait, I know, they're for tacking telephone or cat 5 or cable along or up walls so you don't trip over them and if you want to not see them you paint them (and the cute little bent brads) the same color as the walls. I've seen it done. Cute. I'd have used a staple gun (which is not necessarily the best idea either - in my hands). Eventually I got what I needed but by the time he brought them out he was good and irritated. Blink, blink. Sigh.
And you know what's even worse? If I went in there today in my ragged jeans with dirty hands I'd probably be treated one hell of a lot worse. Unless they saw me getting out of the bmw/farm truck. Then we might expect to see brains leaking out at least a few ears.
I started out thinking about re-writing my match.com profile. Might be I just wrote it.
She has a job. 15 hours per week to start for the Cat Lady who handles the marketing and administration for her husband's very upscale Italian restaurant (I've been there once. He can cook.). I expect the more useful she makes herself the more hours she'll get because at this point she can be expected to have $30 per month to buy gas with the current allocation plan.
Between quaking in her space boots and frantically mining the interwebs to find out how to do what she said she could do during the interview (that's my girl!) she may finally be experiencing some control over her own life. Baby steps. For both of us. This is new to me too, coming from such a black and white sort of upbringing and having repeated it once already. Should have listened to Pataskala years ago.
Post Script: When my fencing tool arrived in the mail it came with a 500 page catalog from Northern Tool & Equipment which is the mecca of tool pornography. I am beside myself with joy. Might even have to take up bathroom reading.