I have no problem sharing stories about my, shall we call it ‘blondness’. And although I generally believe that I’m reasonably intelligent, I see the humor in the fact that I can find my way around any mall even if I’ve never been there before, but get lost driving to my best friend’s house even though we’ve lived two miles apart for five years, and of course, I met Hunky Hubby because I was trying to find Ports ‘O Call, and ended up at Shoreline Village. Close, but not quite.
This story, is not however about my blonde short comings, it’s about my sweet Hunky Hubby, and I write it knowing full well that he will read it, because he lovingly reads every word I write, but he won’t be able to comment because although he can fix the fuel injectors on the car, remodel a kitchen and create an innovative money saving system for the city’s HVAC system that has the mayor calling to congratulate him on a job well done…..he can’t figure out how to comment on a blog. (He also can’t resist a challenge.)
Some of you may know that my handsome, brilliant husband, whom I frequently refer to as Hunky Hubby, is a little bit of a male chauvinist. I’m okay with this. In fact, I prefer it this way. Oh, he can tease me because I get lost everywhere I go, and I’m afraid to leave my three mile radius (hey this has increased from my previous two and a half mile radius and the center of the radius has moved). I don’t care, this just means that he drives me pretty much everywhere I go, because he’s worried about me. Yes, we know about GPS, but I can’t figure out how to use it, so although he’d be able to find me, he’d still have to come and rescue me, so he might as well drive. He can even tell me to ‘sit down, buckle up and just look pretty’, he’s driving, his rules.
This story though is about how my sexy, manly Hunky Hubby can sometimes put his foot in his mouth, and may not live it down.
As I’ve told you, over the summer we bought a little fixer upper, and we’ve been hard at work on it ever since. Clearly I’m not doing any major work, as I said, Hunky Hubby is a male chauvinist. He hides hammers, nails and even paintbrushes from me, because I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about these things, I don’t know how to use them anyway, and he does. This is true, but sometimes I don’t like to wait, as my friend Beth can attest. Years ago she got tired of seeing my paper towel holder on the counter, went and got some tools and hung it up for me, this lead to me buying a hammer and nails of my own so that I could hang pictures. After all, if Beth could use a hammer, so could I! (Wrong.) I hung them, he didn’t like it, and he hid my hammer and nails. (I purchased hammers and nails several more times, all went missing.)
Anyway, we moved into the house in July, and there was no washer and dryer hook-up. None. Not anywhere. So Paul managed to get the washer hooked up, but the dryer would be more work and it got put on hold. He put up a clothes line in the backyard for me…..and guess what that big hunky man said to me. He said “Maybe you won’t even want a dryer. I kind of like the idea of you hanging laundry to dry while I’m at work, it’s so domestic.”
Yep, that’s right, that’s what he said. I stood there too stunned to say anything. I said nothing at all. I know, it’s hard to believe that I had nothing to say, but seriously, who would expect that? So for about two weeks I lugged heavy wet laundry from the garage to the clothesline, prayed for warm days, spent approximately twenty minutes hanging each load and another ten taking it down, not to mention the ironing time because everything ends up wrinkled, and the crunchy towels because, well, towels just don’t come out soft on the clothesline. Then one day, Paul is in the kitchen rearranging cabinets, and you know what? He’s using power tools. That’s right, he’s using a cordless screwdriver to remove screws, lower the cabinets, and move them to the height where they should have been installed originally. (You should have seen the way this house was remodeled by the flippers. Kitchen cabinets up so high that I couldn’t reach the bottom shelves.)
So I’m watching him with the power screwdriver and it hits me. “Honey,” I say in my sexiest kitten voice. “I think it would be so sexy and manly if you did this with hand tools…. you know, the old fashioned way.”
He stopped and looked at me. “Huh?’
“Yeah, in fact, I’d stand right here and watch if you removed all of those screws with a hand screwdriver, and remounted those cabinets one by one with hand tools.” I tried to use a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice.
“What is wrong with you? This work would take me twice as long, why create extra work for myself when I have good tools to make the job easier and faster?”
“That’s right isn’t it honey? Just like using a dryer to dry the clothes.”
It finally dawned on him what he had said to me, and he had the good grace to look a little sheepish.
The point is that I’ve been hanging laundry for the last six months, and finally I have a dryer hooked up. I can’t tell you how happy I am about that. I think he would have done it sooner, but I will admit that he’s worked non-stop just trying to rearrange the silly things that were done in this house….did I mention they put the dishwasher on the opposite end of the kitchen from the sink? And the exhuast hood so high over the stove that I’d have to hit it with a broom handle to turn it on?
So I love my hunky male chauvinist husband, and I think he’s learned an important lesson from this. Don’t touch a girl’s power tools unless you want to lose your own!!
And over the years, I’ve learned a thing or two myself. Such as, when a girl with a male chauvinist husband buys herself a hammer or screwdriver, she should be a pink set with lots of flowers on them so her husband doesn’t lock them in his own tool box where his friends may see them.
Now I’d love to hear your stories about love between the sexes. I know you have them!!