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| Photo by Rusty Boxcars |
I
have a confession to make: Even though I know it’s wrong to categorize all
members of a particular group of people based upon the behavior or traits of a
few members, at times I have been guilty of harboring certain stereotypes about
the opposite sex. For one, I once believed that all men enjoyed beer, football,
and belching; then I married my now ex-husband, who demonstrated that while men
might enjoy belching, they did not necessarily enjoy beer or football. Another
stereotype I once embraced was that all men were born with a wrench in one hand
and a pair of pliers in the other. In other words, I believed that all men were
like my daddy and “handy” with tools. And, being handy with tools, they could
fix anything that needed fixing around the house, from a broken bicycle chain
to a malfunctioning toaster to a leaking roof. However, this stereotype was
shattered—in fact, it was shattered so resoundingly that the earth trembled
from the aftershock—when I married my current husband, Chet.
You
don’t know Chet, but believe me when I say he looks very “manly.” He’s
six-feet-tall and weighs 205 pounds (all muscle since he works out, pumping
iron like a fiend). But Mr. Fix It, he isn’t.
Not
that I knew this about Chet in the beginning. Instead it was a gradual
realization that crept up on me, rather like a fog curling in over the
Appalachian foothills on an August morning, although I had the first inking
that he might not be “Mr. Fix It” shortly after he and I were married.
What
happened was the dryer broke. Yes, the dryer broke; and since I knew,
based upon a long-held stereotype of the male gender, that all men could
fix things around the house, when Chet said, “I’ll fix it,” I never gave it
another thought. Well, at least not until Chet pulled the dryer out into the
middle of the kitchen, where he proceeded not to fix it, but instead to analyze
it.
I
kid you not. See, Chet has a Ph.D. in history, and being highly educated,
he’s a really smart guy; however, since he’s so educated and so smart,
Chet believes that one must do one’s research before drawing a conclusion or
taking any course of action, even if the end result of that course of action
involves a procedure as relatively uncomplicated as fixing a broken dryer. This
being the case, instead of promptly repairing our broken dryer, Chet, with tablet
in hand, proceeded to call several appliance-repair shops in the area and take
voluminous notes, after which he wandered off to his office, where he studied
those notes in order to learn all he could about the “inner workings” of
electric dryers. This process, however, took him about a week since Chet
alternated studying his notes with teaching at the local college, working out
at the gym, and drinking beer while watching football games on television.
Not
that this was all Chet did because at some point (probably during a
commercial), he did manage to pick up a pair of pliers and take apart the
dryer. But did he fix it? Not exactly, but he did manage to take apart
the dryer. And that dryer stayed in that condition, taken apart, pieces
scattered hither, thither, and yon all over the kitchen floor for another week.
And why did the dryer remain in pieces? Well, it remained in pieces because my
dear hubby decided that he needed to conduct additional research.
According
to Chet, he needed to perform one-on-one, face-to-face research with an
appliance repairman instead of over-the-phone, voice-to-voice research with
said repairman since he feared he might have transcribed some data incorrectly
during his first fact-finding mission.
So,
to make a long story even longer, another week passed, during which I lugged
detergent, fabric softer, and hampers filled with dirty clothes to the local
Laundromat in between working as a telemarketer for a local heating-and-air
company and taking courses at the college, while Chet conducted additional
research, after which he studied his voluminous new notes in between
teaching, working out at the gym, drinking beer, and watching football.
Then,
one day I returned home after an American Lit class and the dryer was back
together again, all in one piece, with Chet standing beside it and beaming with
pride.
I
froze in the doorway, overcome with emotion. I’m not sure what emotion,
although I think it was shock.
Waving
one hand with a flourish, Chet tapped the top of the dryer and announced, “Voila, it’s fixed.”
“It’s
fixed?” I managed to say.
He
shrugged as he pointed to the table, upon which lay several bolts and a metal
plate of some kind. “Well” he said, “I did have a few parts left over, but I
don’t think they’re vital.” With another shrug he added, “And maybe the door
won’t close all the way, so you’ll have to prop something against it; but watch
this!” He then reached over and pressed the button to start the dryer. And do
you know what? That dryer came on and worked like new. Granted, it had taken
Chet three weeks to fix it, and, granted, it had missing parts and the door
wouldn’t close properly, but I’ll hand it to my husband; he did fix that
dryer. And do you know something else? Not once during those three weeks did
Chet belch, at least not within my hearing.
That’s
it for now; but maybe in a future blog I’ll tell you about the time Chet fixed
the vacuum cleaner. Better yet, the kitchen sink. No wait; let’s make it the
time he attempted to fix the light in the bathroom. Now, that’s a story
that’ll curl your hair.
