Just a couple of white chicks trying to fix a few things around the house.
Slap on a label, get yourself a category and move on from there.
Even though stereotypes are dangerous things, they exist to make life simple. On some days, when incursions into Big Overwhelming Stores threaten to cause an anxiety attack....well, a stereotype not uttered aloud (but only written here, to my hundred and fifty closest friends) can’t do a whole lot of harm.
Forgive me if the title offends your sensibilities. I'm trying to learn the distinctions in local southern lingo.
We’re making a few changes around the house and I’ve hired a woman I’ve known forever to do what needs to be done.
She deserves her own article. She’s less than five feet tall, is now abut 60, and since I am a woman of a certain age, I’ve known her for 25 years. Her name is Beverly, too. She’s the Beverly that knows how to do everything practical. I am in awe.
We headed out to Home Depot yesterday in my wonderful PT Cruiser to pick up a few things for The Projects To Be Accomplished during the four days of her visit from Massachusetts. I’m sick of working with this contractor and that builder and this guy and that guy.
We are talking a huge heavy dolly’s worth of stuff.
- cans of paint
- long boards for shelves and fancy framing
- Killz for water stains
- lumber for a large cold frame she’s building on the deck
- Rubbermaid shelves for the garage to create order out of chaos
- a cabinet for the kitchen
We are talking a huge heavy dolly’s worth of stuff.
I drive to the Contractor’s Pick-Up place while The Other Beverly takes a breather, leaning on our materials.
Men stand around their trucks, and perhaps move a piece of sheet rock onto the truck bed. Or slide in a couple of 4x4s, or hoist a sack of cement.
They laugh when I drive up. They look at each other. They get that “What’s these two womens gonna do now?” “Are these two little ladies batty in their crawl spaces?”
I folded the back seats down, flipped one of them up, and The Other Beverly, who has a magnificent sense of spatial relationships kept me moving and hopping and handing her things, when she wasn’t hauling twice as much as I was.
The Men With Trucks all stayed to watch. What none of these men did, was offer to help load the heavy stuff. Hence, they were Bubbas instead of Southern Gentlemen.
We were boxed in by the Bubbas while we were schlepping and loading and balancing. Finally, a Home Depot Guy who had been helping the men load their various pishy purchases, came over with nice twine to help tie things down. He was a shakin’ his head.
I think bets and side bets were made, while The Other Beverly and I were working, about what would have to be left off.
It all fit. Every last item.
Victory to “The Womens of a certain age.” Victory to the PT Cruiser. A very fine machine.
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