I came home last night to a packingboxless house. This morning, in the light of day, I can see the floor.
The end of chaos is near.
Which is good, I still have to re-write my ending for ‘Hiding in Plain Sight’ today, because I have to send it out to people either tonight or tomorrow morning (at the very latest).
This morning I’ve been surrounded by toolbelts.
There is a contractor working on my back step and cable guys replacing the cable the moving guys dislodged yesterday. My inner girlie-girl enjoyed the view immensely.
We were actually talking about it yesterday. I made the comment that I prefered real muscles to store-bought muscles. The poor, lone guy in our group wasn’t sure he understood the difference, and none of us girls last night could adequately explain what I meant, even though we all understood it.
After watching the guys today, I think I have a more definitive answer.
A guy in a tool belt, or sweating it out in the yard has a primal appeal. He’s doing something, to make life better. There is an expectation of mental and emotional strength in addition to the muscled physique. Even though I’m fully capable of ripping apart the back step and rebuilding it myself, there is something appealing, even comforting, in watching someone else do it for me. I feel cared for.
Watching a guy work out in the gym is also fun, but there is very little life skill that comes with learning to bench press. While I like what I see, all those heavy weights mean nothing once he walks out the gym door.
Keep in mind, these aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ve used the extreme form of stereotype in my analysis. I beg your forgiveness.