It's been a while since last I wrote. Now I'm retired from my regular labors in the world of business and depend full time on my Handyman business. Although there have been very few opportunities like the one that occurred with Pam (the occasion of my first writing) I've had some chances to be alone with some really foxy ladies while I earth quake proofed their water heaters, resecured their kitchen cabinets to the ceiling, put new outdoor carpeting down on their porches, put up security lights in their yards, etc. But there was always some condition where I would not have been interested in them even if they had shown interest in me, or they were so engrossed in whatever activity they were about that my presence in their space barely registered on them.
Sad to say, but there were other women that it seemed might welcome some form of advance from me but they could not possibly have interested me. Some because they were too much older than I (58 and trying to hold, there) or because of their tendencies toward booze, sloppiness, or personal hygiene. All of this may sound very dark and judgmental on my part, but when you have been in as many houses, apartments, and trailers as I have over the years, you get a quick sense of the people who live there by how clean they keep lower cabinets, the base of toilets, under and behind refrigerators and stoves, and closets. So I have really looked forward to working for some folks (pronounced 'women') only to find that making it with them would probably mean dusty, rumpled, or crude sex. That hard up I'm not. But surprises can sneak up on you so fast sometimes, that you wonder how the hell it happened. Take a recent day at Home Depot, where I spend a lot of time buying stuff for my customers.
Not for the first time, a voice behind me asked if I could help with doorknobs and dead bolts. I guess the mistake is easy to make even though I don't wear the stores orange apron. It's a combination of my clipboard, the perpetual tape measure on my belt, my apparent age, and the fact that I move purposefully since I know the store aisles well. Any way, I turned to see if she was talking to me, and she was. Nice looking forty-something, well dressed, nice shape, pleasant smile. Walking back a few steps to her I explained that I was an independent Handyman, not a store employee, but that I might be able to help her if she wished. The look of relief was evident and she accepted, gladly, my offer of help. She smelled good now that I was next to her, and I realized that she was quite a tight and well-presented package of femininity. I decided I wanted to help this lady; as much as possible.
She explained that her dilemma was two fold. First, she wanted dead bolts on her front and back doors since she didn't feel safe now that she was living alone. (Light goes on in Handyman's head.) Second, she wanted to replace all of the plain doorknobs in her house with fancier new ones. And there might be some other things that needed fixing. (Three-way light in Handyman's head switches to brightest setting.) I explained that changing the interior doorknob sets was fairly simple, but that installing the dead bolts required special tools. The look in her eyes as she looked up at me made me feel like a Shining Knight. We discussed various available doorknob sets and finally I gave her my business card, saying that if she wished I could help her with her installations. No mater how long I live I will probably never learn to tell the difference between the practiced look of a woman who has found a Neanderthal to do her bidding and a woman who has truly been rescued from a dilemma and is grateful. Maybe there is no way to tell except to grab your bear skin clothes and step into their cave. I sure hoped to have a chance to find out, in this case, if the lady was sincere or a manipulator (notice how the first three letters of "sincere" is "sin" and of "manipulator" is "man".)
