Friday, January 30, 2004
Linda in Cupertino hires me to install bathroom lights and outlets, but when I arrive she touches my hand and says, "If you don't mind, since you're already here, I have a little list."
Linda is petite. She's also a touchy-type person who can't speak without reaching out to place fingers on your arm, your hand, your own fingers. It's naive. A man could get the wrong impression. What protects her, I suppose, is that when you look at her you think she looks like a miniature of your mother. Or the mother you wish you'd had.
Now squeezing my fingers she says, "Do you terribly mind?"
I study the list: replace a dimmer switch, change a light bulb requiring a ladder, a few little chores. "No problem," I say.
"Oh that's wonderful!" She smiles with delight. She has enormous presence. By constantly touching, she makes up for her tiny size.
"I'll do the list first," I say.
"Starting with the little stuff?"
"I'm the type of guy - I always eat my vegetables first."
"Oh you're just like me!" she says, grasping my lower arm.
I will do a perfect job. For such a powerful woman, how could I do anything less?