Vegetables First

Friday, January 30, 2004  

Linda in Cupertino hires me to install bathroom lights and outlets, but when I arrive she touches my hand and says, "If you don't mind, since you're already here, I have a little list."

Linda is petite.  She's also a touchy-type person who can't speak without reaching out to place fingers on your arm, your hand, your own fingers.  It's naive.  A man could get the wrong impression.  What protects her, I suppose, is that when you look at her you think she looks like a miniature of your mother.  Or the mother you wish you'd had.

Now squeezing my fingers she says, "Do you terribly mind?"

I study the list: replace a dimmer switch, change a light bulb requiring a ladder, a few little chores.  "No problem," I say.

"Oh that's wonderful!"  She smiles with delight.  She has enormous presence.  By constantly touching, she makes up for her tiny size.

"I'll do the list first," I say. 

"Starting with the little stuff?"

"I'm the type of guy - I always eat my vegetables first."

"Oh you're just like me!" she says, grasping my lower arm.   

I will do a perfect job.  For such a powerful woman, how could I do anything less?