Desperate Measures

I have to admit a guilty pleasure - when I get the chance and am home on a Sunday night, I tune into Desperate Housewives. There is a new storyline where the Susan character (played by Teri Hatcher, a 40-something siren) hooks up with the guy she hires to paint her house. She struggles to legitimize their relationship because she is hesitant to tell her friends, the infamous ladies of Wisteria Lane, about her decidedly working-class beau.

While she hasn't figured it out yet, I am sure a hundred TV script writers are furiously working on a solution. I hope they broadcast the results soon.

You see, I met someone interesting this week - a moderately talented singer guitarist who asked me out after meeting him at a local guitar jam session. Only problem is that his real job is a "maintenance engineer" at a large historic hotel in town.

Now, those of you who have been to my house understand why someone in this line of work might be appealing to me on a number of levels.

I live in the World's Largest House. I am single, never home, and own a house the size of the Denver Airport, with an in-ground swimming pool and an acre of lawn to mow. I have been trying to sell it for 6 mos. to no avail. And in the meantime, I am struggling to keep up with it given my complete ineptitude with anything that exists in 3 dimensions (ie the real world).

My older sister has resorted to dating tradesmen over the years, depending on what repairs she needed around the house. Leaky toilet? Hello, Mr. Plumber! She ultimately married an electrician. Smart lady.

Last winter, I paid an HVAC specialist $120 to change the AIR FILTER on my furnace. I tried to replace it myself and managed to remove the furnace cover in such a way that I was unable to replace it, and the damn thing would not run without it.

And don't even talk to me about my lawn tractor. I repeatedly ran into and over things with it and then asked unwary male co-workers to come over and help me fix it each time. Now they see me coming and run.

Or maybe I should consider dating a car mechanic. My Subaru has a look that says "don't fuck with me ... I have driven into other cars and I won't hesitate to run you over next."

So back to the gentleman in question. I think what sealed the deal for me when he said he is state certified in pool maintenance. Sign me up!

But it does bring to mind certain conventions on status and stations in life. This new guy (I have to come up with a nickname for him, don't I?) is like driving a Honda Element - not overly attractive but pretty darn practical and gets you where you need to go.

Meanwhile, Francois (remember him?) cancelled with me this weekend because he was afraid to drive in the rain. Give me a workman in Carhartts over a wuss like that any day.

At the very least, I am grateful to add another character to my blog fodder. And if some things get fixed around the house in the meantime, what's desperate about that?