I feel blessed to live in this country. Because of my full time job and my full time frugality, I was able to become a single female homeowner. When I bought my house, there were sections on the contract that I had to initial. Those sections were marked "no husband." I kid you not. I was proud then to be doing this with no husband; but now-a-days, I have to admit, I'm jealous of you gals with hubbies. Especially hubbies who are tall and can fix things!
I have so many things that need to be attended to in this twenty-four year old house of mine. I can't open the window part of my screen door. I'll bet a hubby could flip that thing up with one hand tied behind his back. The wind caught that same door one day, and pulled hard on the frame. I watch as the crack in the frame grows longer and deeper all the time. Bet a husband could have repaired that door frame the day it happened. And the hole that's been in the office window since a stone from the lawnmower ripped through the screen? It taunts me every day.
Not only am I not very strong, I'm short. Five feet tall, that's it. As a homeowner, my height is a handicap. The filter for my air conditioning system is in the ceiling. Even on a ladder, I need a tool to open it. Usually, the door bangs down, shooting dust all over the hall and sometimes smacking me on the noggin. When I remember to get the right sized filter, getting it situated correctly leaves me stretching, sweating, and dizzy. The vents are in the ceiling, too. I need to open and close them twice a year. Once again , I can barely reach them while climbing up as far as I can on my ladder. After many years of this, I decided last year just to leave them open. I can see the heat escaping into those vents making the attic I never use cozy and warm each winter. I, of course, am freezing. A husband who would be even two inches taller than I could do these chores in five minutes.
I need to paint the house, but I can't get myself motivated to start. All the up and down on the ladder tires me just thinking about it. It doesn't help that the last time I painted, I contracted a food poisoning so evil that the paint marks on the wall reflect the slap-dash job I struggled to finish before I died. I have heard that husbands like to paint. Oh, how I wish I had a paint happy hubby!
What really frustrates me right now is my garage door opener. The night of the Reba McIntyre concert, there was a huge clap of thunder. Most everybody in this area jumped at the sound. The sensor on my door opener hasn't worked since. Everybody had all kinds of advice for fixing the problem. The most frequently given suggestion was to unplug the opener, wait for twenty seconds, and replug it, therefore resetting the sensor. I do it all the time with my computer. But the garage door opener? It is plugged in at the top of my garage. Not only do I not own a ladder long enough, even if I had one, no way would I climb that high. I'll bet you girls with husbands don't even appreciate how you can leave the climbing and fixing to them. Lucky, lucky you.
Sigh, I love my home. Really, I do. But I sometimes wish it had come with a handy house husband. Heck, I'd be willing to enter into house fixing polygamy if I could get my bathroom recaulked.
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