Occupied residence

The cauliflower in the back of the fridge has turned and the smell is rancid.  I shut the door quickly, hoping that the odor has not escaped because I don't know how to say "Rancid Cauliflower" in spanish and I don't want the tile man to think that the stench is emanating from me.

Last week, I emerged from the shower and realized that I did not have a towel at my grasp.  I dried off dabbing myself with toilet paper.

I run downstairs to use the bathroom so no one will hear anything.

My house has been occupied!  Small men, large men, men without teeth, men who do not know english, men allergic to cats...  I am adding on to my house and therefore have silently invited a whole host of men into my midst.

I rise early, earlier, and dress... sometimes I shower but most times I wash my hair in the kitchen sink.  I would rather be caught dead than have a house full of men see me with dirty hair.

If the dog farts, which he usually does, I audibly cry out so that no one will think it was me.

I am mortified if one of the children has not flushed the toilet, even though I know the workers use the port-o-potty sitting atop my driveway.

I am careful not to swear, especially on the phone when I am talking to Candice.  I pay these men... I don't want them to hear me using foul language.

Did I mention I dried off with toilet paper?

Today though, they installed the light tubes in the kitchen.  And finished tiling the shower.  Tomorrow yet another man arrives, the wallpaper hanger.  And then the floor finishers.  And weeks from now the movers.

I haven't been surrounded by this many men since I spent a year at Washington & Lee University.

Here are some interesting things about men... they can pass by a mirror without stopping to touch their hair, they don't wet their lips, going to the bathroom is precisely that, they love dogs, lunch hour is more like lunch quarter hour, they can wear the same sweatshirt everyday and not worry about it, their jeans always look good, they kind of like killing bugs and don't mind being asked to do stuff that isn't in the contract.

Flip side?  They scratch themselves.  A lot.  They smoke and burp and emit god knows what other sounds, smells and just general nastiness.  They don't care if it is pretty or not, they are following the plans.  They like country music (yes, mostly all of them) and enjoy playing it pretty loud.

So here's to men....at least the ones working on my house. Sleep well, you've earned it.  Live hard, at least as hard as you work... play, laugh, love.  Understand that what you do is appreciated and admired and actually used.  It's been a pleasure, Gentlemen... our time is winding down.  Each of you has given me magnificent gifts, each of you will be remembered.  And when you wonder what you have done with your life... knock on my door.  We are all here enjoying the fruits of your labor.  Salud.