emasculation at six oclock

I was emasculated this afternoon when I got home from work. Linette had conspired against me. She had called a handyman into our house, into this place that is supposed to be my castle. He and I arrived at the house at about the same time, 6:00 PM. If Id been able to get home from work any earlier, Id have made an excuse to be doing something in my office. As it worked out, however, I had to stand there with Linette while this other man strutted around our house and talked about how easily he could fix things that I havent even tried to take-on in the three years that weve lived here. Id been dreading this moment all day.

I called Linette on the phone as I was making my way home and we talked about the fact that I was uncomfortable having another man come in here and fix things that I couldnt. I explained to her that it wasnt so much that I couldnt do these things, as it was that I didnt want to.

So, it takes an hour for our tub to drain every day. I could deal with that the rest of my life. At least we have a tub and running water. Lots of people dont. Thats how I think. I guess you could say that Im a glass half full kind of a guy. Linette sees these kinds of things as problems though.

When I think about the fact that we cant open most of our windows in the summer because we dont have screens, it doesnt bother me. I sweat, but I dont complain. I just think that winter will be here soon enough. Whats the use, I think. In my mind, my time would better be spent gluing pieces of garbage to pages of one of my notebooks and watching the E network on TV.

(Embarrassingly, after the handyman left, after Id gone through the whole pathetic spiel about how I didnt have time to do any of these things, I found the time to sit here on the couch and watch the entire E True Hollywood Story on the Hilton Sisters.)

So, Im telling Linette on the phone that its not fair. That she should have given me longer than three years to take care of some of these minor things. In response, she tells me that the handyman has requested that I wear little, white panties with poop stains for him. (She is quoting from the dirty James Joyce letters I linked to earlier in the evening.) I pretend to cry.

(Hes long gone now. It wasnt that bad either. He turned out to be a good guy, and I think that well probably have him back to do some of the more deadly stuff, like the stuff that requires a working knowledge of electricity and such.)

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