My cellphone rings as I’m standing in the grocery checkout with my daughter, who’s 13. Since I’ve been in the final stretch of my basement remodel, my cellphone rings 20 times a day. My daughter answers since I’m busy unloading men’s shaving cream and family packs of cereal onto the conveyor belt.
“It’s one of your boyfriends,” she says in a beleaguered voice and hands me the phone.
The woman behind her casts a wary glance my way, then conspicuously drops her eyes to my wedding ring.
“Oh, hi, Joe!” I ooze, partly to rile this woman, but mostly because I really want to keep Joe happy, so he will finish my staircase. “I missed you yesterday …. Come over any time …. For you, the door is always open.” I snap the phone shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman trade looks with the woman behind her. They both look back at me, the hussy.
Despite appearances, and to set the record straight, I am a usually happily and definitely loyally married woman. However, Joe, Kevin, Paul and Ben are the men in my life these days, plus Dan, my husband, who is actually fine with this. In fact, he encourages these relationships and pays for them, secure man that he is.
This habit of calling the workers “boyfriends” started innocently. My family couldn’t keep track of the names of the many men calling and parading into our house at all hours, so they became simply “Mom’s boyfriends.”
As I’m about to pay, my cellphone rings again. My daughter answers, hands me the phone. “Another boyfriend,” she says and rolls her eyes because, after 18 months of remodeling, she’s tired of coming downstairs and encountering strange men, sawdust clouds and machine-gun hammering.
“Hey, Kevin!” I say warmly. Kevin works on our basement nights and weekends. “So when am I going to see you again?” One lady makes a clucking sound with her tongue. The other hangs her head and shakes it. To spite them, I say, “Far as I’m concerned, you can stay all night.”
Their shock is nothing compared to what the neighbors must think, seeing those trucks in my driveway at all hours. But, hey, I want my basement finished. If that means I have to sacrifice my reputation to get the job done, well, hang a scarlet letter on me. Goodness knows, after what this has cost, my good name is about all I have left.
Marni Jameson is a nationally syndicated columnist who lives in the Denver area. You may contact her through marnijameson.com.
Insights gained during my basement remodel
Dealing with workers has given me some helpful new understandings about men, women and relationships I would like to share.
Advice for women, whether managing contractors or husbands:
If you want them to do what you want, be charming.
Whether you feel like it or not, be interested in their lives and appreciative of all their work – even if that means getting enthusiastic about copper piping.
The best way to enhance their performance is to make them feel like Gen. Patton when they find the source of a leak or move a refrigerator.
Advice for daughters whose mothers have relationships with workmen:
Every woman needs more than one man.
It’s OK to act like a girl when a man is around and you need something heavy lifted. (But when he isn’t around, be able to do it yourself.)
Flirting, when carefully administered, has its place.
Don’t marry the jealous type.
Advice for men who want to impress a woman:
Once in a while, put on a tool belt. It has an amazing affect.
Do more. Talk less. There’s power in being the silent type.
Remember the four words that turn women on most: I can fix that.
When you see a woman wielding a hammer badly, take over and finish the job. Women who find this insulting aren’t seeking a relationship. Those who like it will agree: Chivalry is a great aphrodisiac.
