Hullo. This is Savannah, Raine’s evil alter-ego. I’m taking over tonight because Raine has writing work to do–and somebody’s gotta deal with the REAL world. So this is my time to Bitch & Moan…
So let’s get it straight. I’m the tough member of this partnership. Strong. Versatile. Independent.
But I’ve decided, at last, that I finally want a DH.
“DH”, or “dh”, to those who don’t hang around message boards, generally stands for ‘dear hubby’, or ‘darling husband’, or ‘dear heart’, or some such crap.
Not in my case.
When I say I need a dh, I mean a Damned Handyman.
Again today (yes, again), Raine and I found ourselves waiting for a repairman. He was late. They’re ALWAYS late. The only time a repairman is on time is when they’re summoned by the Mafia or well-heeled union officials.
OVER TWO HOURS LATE. :uzi:
It was the fridge. And of course, we had to wait. In this recent heat wave, the house is 250 degrees in the shade. An occasional ice cube would be nice.
That meant being here & sucking it up. The kitties won’t let people in when we’re not home. (Mice have a standing invitation–also possums, raccoons, bats–but no people).
So no leaving in a huff, no calling to tell him where he could stick his thermostat. Just wait patiently and wonder what the fuck makes him think HIS TIME IS MORE VALUABLE THAN MINE!!! :hushyourmouth:
Once I find this dh, it’s gonna be a very special relationship. I’ve decided to become…(drumroll, please…)
A DH DOMINATRIX. :smokin:
So when my sink’s draining a little slow, I can call and say, “hey, baby, c’mon over and lay some pipe. Now.”
When I blow a fuse, he’d better have one ready to screw in immediately, or there’ll be consequences.
And when I want my carpet cleaned, he better bring steam, and bring it fast.
No more waiting for me. EVER.
Because next I’m going after a doctor. Then a Wal-Mart cashier. And ultimately…a literary agent!!
:twisted: :twisted: :twisted: :twisted: :twisted: :twisted: :twisted: