Guys Be Gone

Well, I'm back. For the last 20 minutes, I've been checking my email which I haven't been able to for a week. The kids and I went to Corpus for the weekend to look for homes and when we got back, our router was fried. Which brings me to today's topic -- guys. Not my guys. But the kind of guys who wear uniform shirts with their name on the breast pocket and they usually carry clipboards.

For the last eight months, I've done almost nothing but talk to guys. The appraisal guy, real estate guy, painter guy, home repair guy, A/C guy, inspection guy, lawn guy, roofer guy, Internet guy, and carpet cleaning guy. And they all look to me for two things -- direction and money. They're all nice guys, but seriously, the only decision I want to make now is whether or not to wait until 5 p.m. (Central, Pacific or Mountain time) to have a frozen margarita.

The other night, the home repair guy was trying to install new bathtub stoppers which didn't fit. He patiently illustrated for me why they weren't working. I tried my best to cover my "seriously, do I look like I care?" facial expression. A few months ago, the painter guy asked me what color did I want for the upstairs playroom. "Something neutral," I said. Painter guy quickly pulled out of his pocket a Pantone packet, fanned it out like a peacock's tail and asked, "Which one."  Clearly, I lack in providing focused direction.

The one relief came earlier this week when my realtor asked if I knew an extermination guy to haul out a dead rodent from our attic which was found upon inspection. "I do, my brother," I said. "He owns his own extermination business." 

So, I called Carl. Although he wears the standard uniform shirt with his name embroidered on the pocket, he doesn't look to me for any answers. Forty-plus years of experience of me being his sister has taught him not to look to me for solutions. When I called him, the conversation was more him thinking out loud then asking me.

Me: Can you come get a rodent out of the attic?
Him: I wonder what kind of rodent it is?
Me: A dead one.
Me: When can you come?
Him: Sometime soon. I'll let you know.
Me: Before the 17th. Please.

So, I'll be glad when this chapter of my life ends. No  more home guys. Just my guys. By the way, my little guy lost a tooth today and upon pulling it out, dropped it down the sink drain. Guess I'll have to get a guy to get it out.

Just wondering why guys always seem to be so handy.

The Wondering Texan