A couple of days ago I asked my neighbor (the dirty old man across the street) if he had an Allen wrench I could borrow. He said he had one but he didn’t know where it was and he would bring it by when he found it.
I thought, “Man! I have work to do, I can’t be waiting around for you to find stuff.” So I headed back across the street to my house, but I didn’t wiggle my behind like Gloria did in “Waiting To Exhale.” My departure was more like a mad dash with a silent prayer that he wasn’t watching my butt.
I went on about my business doing what I could without tools. Then two days later, he rings my doorbell while I’m busy inside doing all my handy work. With dried plaster and paint all over my face, my fingers and my jeans from patching holes and spot painting I answer the door and he’s standing there proudly showing me his ring of Allen wrenches.
I invited him in and cheerfully responded, “Let me show you what I bought.”
I ran upstairs and grabbed my recently purchased home tool kit, complete with any tool you’d ever need for small home repairs, including an array of Allen wrenches. He then dropped his head and stuffed his little wrenches down in his pocket.
Seconds later, recomposed, he glanced around the room amazed at all the work I had completed; and with a grin spanning ear to ear he chided, “Oh, you can just do it all, huh?” Then followed with a chuckle and a playful, “I hate you.” I think that would be the grown up version of a little boy pulling on my braids in the first grade because he hadn’t yet learned the proper way to express his school boy crush. Seems some things just never change.
As usual, it wasn’t long before he asked for a hug and I obliged but I couldn’t help but notice the hugs are lasting longer and longer each time and this time it ended with a grunt. Okay, now I know many women, including my inner bitch, who would have kicked him in the nuts by now, so don’t ask me why I hadn’t done so yet because he is getting on my damn nerves!
After chatting a bit, he suggested we get together for a glass of wine before I leave town. Now, I don’t know if this is the equivalent of a kick in the nuts but before he could put the period at the end that sentence, I suggested he get his ass over here and cut my lawn before I leave town. I contained my inner bitch and said it little nicer than that, but I did suggest it and he said he would.