I usually don’t blog on the weekend, not because I don’t like to, but because family time and blogging usually don’t go well together. But, it was not a stellar week for blogging (or working out), and since it’s ten o’clock on Saturday morning, and I’m already dressed and back from a dentist appointment (no cavities, thank you very much), I thought I might try to catch up and explain my unintended absence.
We’ll see how far I get.
Friday morning, less than twenty-four hours after Little Lady’s first ever Halloween party, she was puking on me in the doctor’s office. It was lovely. As it happens, I had well visits scheduled for Second Son and Little Lady that same morning. Who knew Little Lady would wake up at three o’clock in the morning crying, burning up with fever? Certainly, not I. But, it turned out to be fortuitous, because it meant I didn’t have to call for a sick visit and wait for a nurse to get back to me “in the order my call was received.” That is, it was fortuitous until Little Lady, feverish, with only a glass of orange juice and vitamin in her stomach, puked all over me. I had to muster all my strength (and only breathe through my mouth), just to make it through the remainder of the doctors visit.
The only good thing that came out Little Lady’s vomiting was Second Son finally realized that his sister really was sick and gave up on teasing her. After witnessing her vomit, he hid his eyes in horror and stayed far away from her, proving that self interest isn’t always a bad thing.
She was diagnosed with a double ear infection.
I returned from the doctors, tired and smelling of puke, only to be greeted in the driveway by the appraiser, who was visiting for the second time. The loan officer, who is handling our refinancing, messed up the paperwork, which meant the appraiser had to be sent out again. I’m not sure what they thought changed within the last two weeks, but he cheerfully zipped through my house, heading straight upstairs only to yell down, “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
Seriously? I just cleaned them the day before, when I was stuck home because the electrician was at our house. The worst part, I’m not ever sure which one he used.
Speaking of the electrician, he followed shortly after the appraiser, showing up for a second day of installing recess lights. I am happy with his work and he’s a nice guy, but I’m pretty sure he could have finished the job in one day if he would have just stopped talking.
For some reason, the men that come to work on our house love to talk to me. My husband thinks it’s me. He thinks I initiate conversation, or at the very least, respond to their efforts at conversation. I don’t, and if they initiate conversation, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, ignore them?
Yesterday, I couldn’t walk in any part of my downstairs without the electrician trying to talk to me. I know more about him than I do any of my neighbors, and possibly my husband.
This whole fantasy that women are so chatty and men, aren’t, is total bull. From my experience, I’ve come to the conclusion that men love to talk, they just don’t like to listen so much, making conversation between men pretty much null and void. Personally, I could go a whole day without speaking a word, the electrician, not five minutes. He even started talking loudly to himself at one point saying, “Damn, I’m good!” referring to his rough placement of the recessed light template. Since I was within ten feet of him and he clearly wanted me to hear, I responded, “Right on?”
He laughed and said, “Oh, you heard me.”
How could I not?
When I would try and get on the computer, and he would pass me, on one of his many smoke breaks, he would say things like, “Home office?” or “Man, this is a big laundry room.”
This is how all my bathrooms got cleaned and why I wasn’t blogging. I had to hide upstairs just to ensure that he would finish by dinner time.
At least he wasn’t like the painter I used, when I lived in Florida, who insisted we eat lunch together everyday he was on the job.
I’m not kidding.
He’d say, “So, what do you want to do for lunch today?”
I would say, I’m probably just going to have a yogurt. To which he would respond that I couldn’t eat just yogurt for lunch, and he was thinking more a pizza or sandwich, and he just assumed that we would eat together, that’s what he does on all his jobs, and in his culture…blah, blah, blah. So, I would order pizza and we would sit and eat together as he told me all about himself. It was painful.
All this has lead me to some insights of my own. Put a man around a woman, especially a woman who is a good listener, and they don’t shut up. It’s like the flood gates open. They don’t really care to know too much about the person they are talking to, they really just want to talk about themselves. I mean, in all the time that these men have been chatting it up with me, no one has ever asked me a question, unless you count the electrician, who wanted to know if I watched Boardwalk Empire, which I quickly found out was just a way of introducing the topic, so he could tell me how much he knew about the history of Atlantic City.
Seriously, dude, just install the lights.
I’ve used up all my time today (and then some), but I am happy to report that Little Lady is doing much better, and not so happy to report that the electrician thinks he needs, at least, another day and half.
Have a good weekend.