Updated: Sep 1, 2019
Headline reads “Scientists Prove: Women nagging shorten man’s life!” I saw this on my Facebook recently and I cringed, remembering a time when I nagged my old man to fix a broken window at our home. I wanted him to do it. I didn’t want to have to call a contractor to fix it.
I didn’t bother to ask my husband if he could do it. If he was capable of doing it. I assumed that by entering into vows with me, that he automatically knew how to do all things I needed him to do at any given moment in time, including, but not limited to, changing explosive diapers, moving heavy furniture while I obsessively vacuumed, building complicated decking around our above ground pool, calming my irrational moods, retrieving lost wedding rings from the tiniest of kitchen pipes, and of course, fixing windows that had separated from the window sill.
I had been nagging at him to repair this issue in our daughter’s room now for several weeks, which to me felt like an eternity, and I had stuffed a bathroom washcloth into the growing chasm to prevent creepy crawlies from entering our domicile. I was considering putting a bit of duck tape over the wash cloth, too. Ugh. I really didn’t want to supersede him and call a contractor. After all, he was the “man of the house” and I didn’t want him to feel like I was stepping on his proverbial toes on this issue. But seriously?
In my mind, the issue was HUGE. I kept imagining our three year old princess waking up covered in beetles, or worse…fire ants….marching in from this massive hole in the wall…on a mission to devour her whole. Screaming in agony. Helpless. Even worse, a cluster of spiders swarming in on sprays of webs, claiming her room as their new haven. We’d try to enter our sunshine glitter sparkle’s bedroom to wake her up from her peaceful slumber and find her wrapped in webbing from head to toe. Spider food. That’s it, years of teaching and grooming and playing and perfection just to become spider bait. Nopety nope nope nope. Fix the damn window, bro.
But it didn’t occur to me until several weeks into the nagging cycle that this dude might not actually know how to do it. At this point in the story, I must confess to you that I really kind of held this guy on a pedestal. He was smart, not just book smart, but he could do things. And I had mad respect for him. So, I was stuck obsessing. I didn’t know how to move forward for a whole minute. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and his ego and his masculinity.
Let’s be real about something, too. Calling a contractor sucks. At this point in time, there wasn’t Angie’s List and HomeAdvisor and that kind of stuff. I’m talking about a little bit ago, ya’ll. I’m a seasoned chicken here. So, Yellow Pages and word of mouth. How do you know if you’re getting somebody who’s legit? Who’s going to do a good job? Who isn’t going to scope you out and then try to rob you later? Who’s going to give you a fair deal and not try to kick you in the wallet? Ugh. Who has time for this nonsense? Besides the fact that they tell you a certain time, and don’t show up till a few hours later. Or they give you a this range. “Ok. Ma’am, we’ll be there between noon and two p.m.” Eye roll.
And I know all my ladies can hear me on this right here. Who wants to be alone when some random contractor guy shows up at your place? Not me. I don’t know you. These are some kind of unsafe times we live in and I’m not tryin’ to put myself in a Purge movie today, ya’ll. Just sayin’.
My hubs ended up deciding to call someone that our neighbor recommended before I had to have an uncomfortable conversation with him or call a contractor myself. It’s funny how life works. That’s a complete nightmare story for another day, folks. I’d love to hear your funny or not so funny contractor stories in the comments.