Tuesday, 11 June 2013
My toilet was on the fritz so I called a plumber.
When the doorbell rang I was surprised the repairman was a woman. And she was gorgeous. No American standard, believe me.
She told me her name was Fawcett. I thought "Yep, I'd tap that."
I was struck dumb. I flushed in embarrassment. But she didn't seem to notice and plunged into her work.
I had to crane my neck to see what she was doing.
I asked if she could use any help. She said she could handle it.
But I knew she was having a tough time of it 'cause she nearly blew a gasket.
She about bowled me over because she swore like a stevedore. Whatever floats your boat, I thought.
And then I thought if she'd taken elocution lessons they'd surely gone to waste.
For me, though, it was like water off a duck's back. I wasn't offended. There was no chance that I'd sewer.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a can of motor oil; an odd item to fix a toilet with. I said "What's that?" "Valve-o-line, of course," she replied. I felt like a complete toto.
Soon she was done and said to me "Urine luck. I'll only charge you for the parts not the labour." "Holy crap, I piped up, "that's a great deal".
I fixture with my unblinking eyes and said "tanks a lot".
I think she liked me because she gave me her number and said I could Kohler.