Tragedy is when your wife laughs at your penis. Comedy is when she laughs at someone else's.
Since no one gets tied up here we're in the Humour & Satire section this time.
+++++
There was a lot of stuff that needed to be fixed around the house. June had complained about leaking taps, a rattling ceiling fan, cracks in the pergola and a skirting board that had come away from a wall in the kitchen. Then she wanted some nails in the walls so she could hang her new prints. One hung in the living room and one in the bedroom. I told her I would look at the other chores, but I had a go straight away at nailing in the new hooks for June's artwork. Which was not a success. The hooks came away leave a couple of large holes in the walls and the prints yet to be hung.
I was thinking about what I could do next, sitting at the kitchen table with the music up loud.
June burst in on me. "What's that noise?" she demanded, "I can't stand it."
"That's The Pixies classic Doolittle," I informed her.
"Yeah," June sneered, "Do little." She went to slam the door on her way out but it stuck before it closed so she had to pull it hard which made the hinges screech. June poked her head back around before she got the door fully closed. "And fix this," she snarked. And she was gone.
I had a look at the internet for videos of how to do the chores and figured that I could at least fix the holes in the walls. I made another trip to Bunnings to buy the materials and tools I would need. I splayed the polyfiller into the holes I had made. I trusted the promise on the pack that it would set overnight, and I could put the hooks in the next morning. But the next morning I found that both plugs had fallen right out. Frustration, I had done everything by the instructions. It was hard as promised, but it just did not stick in the wall. Which after all was the aim. Needless to say, June was not impressed and coolly suggested that further attempts should be handled by a professional. So I found a company called Hire A Handyman, and they promised to send someone out on the Friday.
The predictable white van pulled into our driveway about nine o'clock on Friday morning. I was working on my laptop in the front room, there to keep an eye out for the promised domestic assistance.
A man got out of the van. And what a man. I first noticed his solid black workboots. Then his black leather bib overalls. He wore a white singlet underneath which revealed in the best way a pair of solid biceps that just yelled 'I can pull tractors'. The strong features of his face and his piercing gaze, visible even from my vantage, were offset by a luscious mane of lanky brown hair with blond highlights that actually shone in the sun like he was some sort of man-god.
When he knocked on my front door, the windows in the front room shook.
I was somewhat concerned as I went to open the door for him. The handyman stood a little taller than me. I stared for a moment then noticed that he had reached out with his solid right hand to shake mine. He held a large bag with tools and materials in his left hand. In a deep, warm voice he said "Hello, I'm Fabio. I believe I am required here to help you." As indeed he was.
After an excruciating moment I worked my hand free from his vicelike grip and invited him into my home.
He followed me inside, silent after the initial greeting, so I tried to make small-talk with him. "I was starting to wonder if there were any male tradesmen left," I smiled over at my imposing visitor as I led him into the front room to show him the first of the holes that I had created in the walls trying to get the hooks in.
Fabio nodded agreement. "We're in a minority since the women came into the industry," he agreed. "They have taken over and get the good jobs, probably because they are better at this work than we men are."
I laughed at his solemn pronouncement. "Well, I'm useless," I admitted, "but you're a professional so I hope you know how to get the job done."
"I hope so too," he answered without any shred of irony that I could detect.
I looked up into his vivid blue eyes and smiled. He smiled back for a brief moment, realising it was time for a joke. "Don't worry," he said without relaxing a muscle in his again bold face, "I can fix things."
"That's good," I agreed.
"But I want you with me so you will know how to do the job next time it needs to be done."
"But doesn't that put you out of a job?"
Fabio rolled back his shoulders and his biceps flexed just a little. "I have more work than I can handle. I have succeeded if you don't have to call for me next time something falls out of your wall." We were right near the mess I had made, so it was obvious what he was talking about. Fabio put down his work bag and rummaged through it. He held up a caulking gun and a small trowel. "You need these items," he informed me. "Do you own them?" I shook my head. "I will leave them here for you afterwards so you can use them yourself next time. Now let me explain what needs to be done."
Fabio led me through the process. He insisted I hold the caulking gun and talked me through how to apply the filler so that it bonded with the plaster and the wall. To my surprise, he told me to leave it to dry for at least a day or two before trying to fit the hook. Well, at least that explained that.
"There are other holes like this?" he asked.
"Sure are," I replied, "in the bedroom." And I led him there.
As I opened the bedroom door, I realised that June was in our bed, apparently still asleep.
"What are you doing, June?" I exploded at her without thinking.
She groaned and rolled over to avoid the light coming into our bedroom from behind me. "I told you," she mumbled, "I'm taking the day off."
