Real Men are in My House

There have been some guys in our house, fixing things.  Apparently, this is what people do: they put up with broken, worn out, unattractive things for years until they're ready to move, then they fix everything up.  It would seem that the smart thing to do would be to fix the stuff up when it needs fixing up so that you get to enjoy the results.  This is especially true for someone who takes absolutely no joy in the pleasure of others, especially people enjoying things that I paid to fix up.

I find it very upsetting when men are working on my house.  Real men, not just biological men like me.  I'm sure that subconsciously I feel emasculated.  A dull-witted chimpanzee with a hammer would be more productive fixing up things than I would.  It would have more success accurately identifying different hand tools by their silhouettes than I would.

"Is that a monkey wrench or a ball peen hammer?" I think.  "Damn." 

Part of it, I'm sure, is the loss of control.  I don't understand what's happening and it's not happening fast enough and it's costing me money so I'm afraid.  I never behave very well when I'm afraid.

"You again?" I say when the men show up the next day or not, depending on which way the wind is blowing.  8 o'clock means just that to me.  Not to these guys.

Anyway, one of the more irritating of these guys did something that I found especially irritating, and I lost my temper.  Not vintage drunken Horseface, with the yelling and swearing and throwing of things, but I was ticked off, and it came out.  I've learned that I need to talk to a friend or two and one wife to see if an amends was in order and an amends was in order because that's always going to be the case when I don't feel good about how I've behaved.

So I approached this guy and made an apology, which he graciously accepted, which I didn't like much.  He had behaved badly and I wanted to hear him say that the whole situation was really his fault and I shouldn't worry about it and I didn't do anything wrong, anyhow.

Something is coming to mind.  Something about sweeping my side of the street.