Every Woman Has a Fantasy
...and mine involves English toffee and hazelnut gelato. Nevertheless, I'll play along.
Our building is serviced by a man we have come to refer to as The Sexy Exterminator. SE is probably in his early twenties and has a slight New York accent.
The first time he arrived, we'd scheduled the visit for an hour I deemed unreasonably early on a Saturday given my childless existence--7:30 am. Like any happily married woman with no interest in playing around, I set my alarm for 7:27 and figured I'd smooth my hair sufficiently on my way to the door that he hopefully wouldn't consider me one of the vermin.
In a neighborhood chock-full of frazzled gray ponytails, holey wool sweaters, and lanky, bookish types (i.e., decidedly lacking in eye candy), the sight of this bright-eyed young man in his crisp blue uniform, American flag emblem stretched over his rounded right bicep, stirred something deep within my yuppie brain. But for my stained pj's and sleep-crusted eyes, it was the stuff of porn-movie opening sequences.
Just to clarify: I can appreciate a thing of beauty (I'm not dead, for heaven's sake), but I harbor no fantasies about getting it on with the exterminator. All I wanted was a glimmer of recognition in his eye that I was a relatively young, attractive woman--perhaps a look that said, "I'd like to head into your law office and see you take off your reading glasses and let down your hair." Then, I could subtly convey that I was flattered but uninterested. I wanted the upper hand in the power-play between the sexes. I wanted a scene from my own personal Lina Wertmuller film, complete with witty dialogue. Naturally, that glimmer was less than forthcoming, given my attire, so I gave up and stepped aside as he sought to chase away the silverfish.
The next time, SE showed up unannounced (meaning I forgot he was coming that day) at about 11:45 on a Saturday. What was I wearing, you ask?
Stained pj's and messy hair.
The THIRD time, SE showed up around 1:30. I'd forgotten he was coming, again, but, nevertheless, THIS TIME I was prepared. I was wearing clean jeans, a soft blue sweater, and makeup. The timing actually couldn't have been better, because at that precise moment I had been experimenting with the new red lipstick that I bought the day before.
I ran down to get the door and saw that my (adorable) downstairs neighbor was already in the hallway, wearing sweatpants (she's a happily married woman, too). I could even exploit the outfit contrast!
I smiled and greeted SE, scanning his face, examining his expression.....
NOTHING. All business, and a bit rushed. (He was probably eager to get home to his 19-year-old cheerleader girlfriend or something.)
A few days later, a geezerish type handing out fliers on the street aimed a compliment in my direction.
It's all relative, I guess.
Our building is serviced by a man we have come to refer to as The Sexy Exterminator. SE is probably in his early twenties and has a slight New York accent.
The first time he arrived, we'd scheduled the visit for an hour I deemed unreasonably early on a Saturday given my childless existence--7:30 am. Like any happily married woman with no interest in playing around, I set my alarm for 7:27 and figured I'd smooth my hair sufficiently on my way to the door that he hopefully wouldn't consider me one of the vermin.
In a neighborhood chock-full of frazzled gray ponytails, holey wool sweaters, and lanky, bookish types (i.e., decidedly lacking in eye candy), the sight of this bright-eyed young man in his crisp blue uniform, American flag emblem stretched over his rounded right bicep, stirred something deep within my yuppie brain. But for my stained pj's and sleep-crusted eyes, it was the stuff of porn-movie opening sequences.
Just to clarify: I can appreciate a thing of beauty (I'm not dead, for heaven's sake), but I harbor no fantasies about getting it on with the exterminator. All I wanted was a glimmer of recognition in his eye that I was a relatively young, attractive woman--perhaps a look that said, "I'd like to head into your law office and see you take off your reading glasses and let down your hair." Then, I could subtly convey that I was flattered but uninterested. I wanted the upper hand in the power-play between the sexes. I wanted a scene from my own personal Lina Wertmuller film, complete with witty dialogue. Naturally, that glimmer was less than forthcoming, given my attire, so I gave up and stepped aside as he sought to chase away the silverfish.
The next time, SE showed up unannounced (meaning I forgot he was coming that day) at about 11:45 on a Saturday. What was I wearing, you ask?
Stained pj's and messy hair.
The THIRD time, SE showed up around 1:30. I'd forgotten he was coming, again, but, nevertheless, THIS TIME I was prepared. I was wearing clean jeans, a soft blue sweater, and makeup. The timing actually couldn't have been better, because at that precise moment I had been experimenting with the new red lipstick that I bought the day before.
I ran down to get the door and saw that my (adorable) downstairs neighbor was already in the hallway, wearing sweatpants (she's a happily married woman, too). I could even exploit the outfit contrast!
I smiled and greeted SE, scanning his face, examining his expression.....
NOTHING. All business, and a bit rushed. (He was probably eager to get home to his 19-year-old cheerleader girlfriend or something.)
A few days later, a geezerish type handing out fliers on the street aimed a compliment in my direction.
It's all relative, I guess.
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 8:44 AM
8 Comments:
Arabella, I am positive that if the SE had need of your lawerly services for any reason, he would be at home getting his best outfit ready and spraying on cologne to impress you.
Perhaps to him you are the SA.
"Our building is serviced by a man" *snort*
He must be inhaling too much DDT. Like in Naked Lunch. He probably goes home and writes twisted tales of bug-love.
Oooh...I had the same kind of thing going on for my friend's boyfriend's brother in college. And every time he saw me I had my I've Had One Too Many Corona's With Lime face on, and he'd just glance at me and keep walking.
See, he would have been all over you, but years of being exposed to extermination chemicals have messed up his brain! Probably other parts, too...You're better off!
It's always nice when the Sexy Exterminator stops by! I, sadly, only have the Scary Furnace Repairman and Frightening Water Heater Fixer-guy.
I like to think of myself as old enough to be Mrs. Robinson and young enough to be a Medicare patient's trophy wife. This keeps me from feeling washed up.
Oh, yeah. He was gay. How else could he not have noticed you??
Ladies:
He was MALE. He thought about bopping you the second he saw you, every time. Trust me.
And don't ever trust a guy that tells you, "trust me."
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