Hey, I’m cool with it. I know that I can’t meet all of my wife’s needs. So it didn’t bother me when another guy came to our house yesterday and spent all afternoon doing stuff that made Laurel ooh and aah.
I wish I could have given her all that pleasure on my own. But I’ve still got some macho self-esteem left, since I’ve convinced myself that it takes a real man to call the plumber.
Who arrived right after lunch. First, he installed a replacement kitchen sink faucet, tearing out the old Moen that I had managed to reverse the hot and cold directions on. Ooh! Laurel liked it. A lot.
My first reaction was that it was creepy. But then, I can’t stand snakes. It looks like a cobra to me. And when its head comes out of the fixture to become a sprinkler thingie, it really looks like a cobra.
I’m so traumatized, given my snake phobia, that probably I won’t be able to ever wash dishes in the sink again. Or so I hope. Unfortunately, I’m married to a psychotherapist who doesn't display as much compassion toward my mental problems as she should. I may need to seek a second opinion.
Then came the aah! This was a surprise for me, but the other two members of our home fix-it manage a trois pulled off the stunt smoothly.
I went down to my office for a few minutes and by the time I got back to the kitchen the plumber was unpacking a new garbage disposal that he just happened to have in his truck after Laurel had just happened to mention to him that the old unit had been getting stuck quite often.
The guy dutifully showed me how the old disposal stopped turning instantly after it was shut off, which meant, he said, that the ball bearings were shot. I appreciated that he was trying to involve me in the replacement process, but I recognized that the two of them were going to do what they wanted with or without me.
So I meekly said, “Sure, go ahead and put in a new one,” trying not to notice that the plumber had already started to take out the old garbage disposal before I’d opened my mouth.
When it came to replacing another faucet in our upstairs bathroom, the thrill began to wear off for Laurel. Not that the plumber did anything wrong. It was just that, as soon as the fixture had been installed, she second-guessed her decision to go all stainless steel rather than getting something with a gold accent to match the trim.
Me, I couldn’t care less. This is “my” bathroom (using the term “my” extremely loosely when it comes to decorating decisions) and I didn’t even know that I needed a new faucet.
I rather like this one though. Laurel thinks it is too large for the sink, which it may be, but the shape appeals to me. I hadn’t realized before how phallic a faucet and base can appear.
Meditating on it while I brush my teeth has helped make me feel like a man again. Until the tile guy comes to the house. But that’s another story.