The photo is from 1978. My son, his truck. Behind him, my truck.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

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?

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