I don't mean to, honestly, but sometimes I look a little frustrated. I mean I am a little frustrated, but I try not to look it. It just isn't attractive.
Plus: what's so special about my junk? Everyone has junk. Mine tends to be of the Something's-Broken-and-I-Can't-Fix-It variety; a stream of tiny reminders that I am the most incompetent homeowner on the planet.
This mailbox thing apparently made its way to my face today. L asked if I had managed to replace it yet and, after I told her of course not, followed up with "Do you ever find yourself needing help with other little jobs like that?" It took a minute for me to understand that she wasn't co-griping, she was actually inquiring.
Why? Because, as they say, she's got a guy. An odd jobs guy who, according to L, is totally dependable and honest and clean and reasonably priced - and hardly sounding human anymore at this point.
L is good people, and I trust her judgment. And I really want my mailbox fixed. I found myself conjuring up a list of a dozen other tasks that surely qualify as "odd jobs," and then visualizing the perfection of my life if they were done...
"There's one thing you should know," L then said, to awaken me. "He's actually a she. Not entirely, but in the process..."
I got the whole story then, from the extent of the work-in-progress to the skill with which he - um, she - recently replaced some broken tiles and painted a room at L's house.
...Um, so my junk (pardon the expression) is looking really miniscule now.
Yet, still undone. Yet I don't know. A girl is going to complete my handyman to-do list? I don't feel incompetent enough?
Yeah, that's what I'm concerned about. I'm a little vain, okay?
I'm going to go read those mailbox assembly directions again...
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