Safe Sex and Home Repair - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Day One (Wednesday)

Who knew they'd take it seriously?  I mean, okay, I'd been out of the dating scene for far longer than I cared to admit, and had never been one for personal ads, but come on.  They couldn't see that it was a joke?

"Will Trade Sex for Home Repairs: I have several small home-repair projects I need done. I'm an attractive, fat, middle-aged-woman who is very sexually experienced. I'm looking for a man (or men) similarly experienced in home repair. Must be willing to practice safe sex and home repair."

Forty two responses.  On the first day alone.  And every one of those howling horndogs thought I was serious.  You wouldn't believe the responses.  The very first one I opened up started out "Yo, babe, I got an 8-pound sledge, and an 8-inch..."  -- whoops!  I deleted that one before the picture could load, and that email was the last one I opened at work!  Good thing I'd created a separate email account for this.

***

I should bring you up to speed.  I'm Lacie.  Said my farewells to forty a few years ago, my ex-husband a few years before that, and my illusions before I left junior high.  I'm fat and sassy and look deceptively normal.  I've always been something of an anomaly, but I grew up knowing I was scary-smart and would one day rule the world.  That day, sadly, has not yet arrived, which brings me back to the here and now, which is meeting men online.  Which is not as easy as you might think, for a woman with standards who's not "HWP".  Hey, my height and weight are in proportion.  I'll grant you, they may not be the proportions you had in mind, but even beach balls have proportions.

 ***

 They say that you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your handsome prince.  I never really understood what a gift for understatement "they" have - do you know how many frogs there are out there?  And the varieties they come in... will never cease to amaze me.  Once I got home, I started digging through the drivel.  Forty two responses.  Who would have expected that?

"Hello, I am nice man from New York City, California.  I am pleased to be reading your ad, and would be liking to know better you.  I am business man."  Hmm.  New York City, CA?  Right.  There's more to his note, but would I believe another word?  Not a chance.  "Sorry, but I don't live in New York City OR California."  Send.  Delete.

"Hi, wut kind of home repears do u need?  But I kin fix anythin, just send me a plain ticket.  I live in AH."  AH?  Where's that?  Never mind.  I don't think I want to know.  "Gee, I don't know how to buy a plain ticket, and couldn't you just drive here from AH?"  Sheesh.  Delete.

"I would happily come from Ghana and fix your whole house, and treat you like a princess, only we would have to get married so that I could stay..."  Sigh.  Well, at least this one's up front about looking for a green card wife, he gets bonus points for that.  But there aren't enough bonus points in the known universe to balance out that "Ghana" part, so let's move on.  "Sorry, I'm not going to marry someone just to get my house fixed, I think that it would be cheaper to just hire someone, but good luck in your search, okay?"  Send.  Delete.

"Hey, me and the boys at Delta Gamma Sigma figure we can take turns, how many of us do you figure you can do in a day?"  Oh, and they've included pictures, how sweet.  No, wait.  That's Brad Pitt in his twenties, Keanu Reeves at about eighteen... yeah.  All six of them, celebrity photos from "BeforeTheyWereWhoTheyAre.com".  Who let the dogs out?  I don't know, but I'm not taking in these stray pups.  "Gee, Brad, haven't seen you in a while.  That's kind of an old pic, isn't it?  But really, when I said the relationship was over, I meant it."  Hey, a girl's got to have her fun, right?  Send.  Delete.

"The Lord will punish you for your evil ways and your sins against man!"  Thank you for your contribution, sir, but in my world, even God has a sense of humor.  Okay, so this one was a debt for that last one, wasn't it?  I don't think I'm even going to answer this one.  If I say any of the things I'm thinking, most of which run along the lines of "What a pathetic little life you lead, that you have time to send that to me", even the most benevolent of deities will have to take some action.  Maybe I should save that email for the cops in case he turns out to be some kind of stalker... Nah. Delete.

I'm exhausted already, and this is only day one.  Whose idea was this joke ad, anyway?  Oh, yeah, that's right.  Mine.  "I want to find a guy with a sense of humor, and if he can handle a hammer, all the better."  I wasn't finding any funny bones, and I had serious doubts about trusting any of these guys with power tools.  I plowed through the rest of my inbox, alternately laughing and sighing.  Eventually, I even gave up on polite responses to most of them.  What a day.  But hey, it was a Wednesday, and maybe the funny guys were watching... no, there's nothing funny on Wednesday nights, that's not the reason.  I may need to re-think this strategy.

Day Two (Thursday)

"You wanna check out the goods before we hook up?"  Oh, another picture.  How nice.  Why does the day always start out with a visual?  Okay, okay.  Two days isn't "always".  It just seems that way.  Delete.

Another thirty emails.  Fifteen with pictures, and only one of those was his face.  I'm finding a new appreciation for layout and ambience in photographs of extreme close-ups.  Oh!  A redhead!  No, I mean, his hair... never mind.  Delete, delete, delete.  This is my new mantra.

"I'm kind of new at answering these kinds of ads, but you seem nice!  Please call me sometime."  Eek.  I seem "nice"?  Yeah, I guess he is pretty new at this.  Delete.

"Babe.  Where?  When?  Gawd, I love a fat chick!"  Okay, so if I wasn't quite so focused on a guy with a sense of humor, I might follow up on this one.  No, he's not a man of many words.  And he's clearly not looking to spend a month getting to know me while he works up his courage to meet, for real, in public.  Aw, what the heck.  "Dude.  Here.  Soon.  Pic?"  I can always change my mind later, right?  Send.  Save that one in the "options" folder.

Wow, this one's big.  No, not that!  The email, it's a whopping 47k.  "Good morning.  As you will see on the enclosed resume, I have been steadily employed as a Maintenance Technician..." Yawn.  If I ever actually need to hire a handyman, I guess I'll give him a buzz... but I think I'll use another email address, just in case he remembers how I'll be paying for that new washer.  File him under "handyman".

"Attractive and fat?  No way!"  Oh, a size bigot.  That's the first one of those, I think I'm going to have to respond in kind.  "Gee, I'm sorry that you have such a pathetic little life that you're willing to expend time and energy emailing me, just to tell me that you're also a narrow-minded slave to the media's opinion of beauty."   Send.  Delete.

This is getting tiresome, and I'm starting to wonder if this was such a great idea.  Seventy-two emails, so far, and not a real prospect in sight.  Maybe the humor was too subtle?  I should bounce the ad off some friends, and see what they think.  Fortunately, I've got a lot of single friends, most of them online.

"Hey, I posted this personal ad, as a joke, you know?  But it doesn't seem like anybody's getting the joke.  This ever happened to any of you?"

"What did you post?"

"Oh, that I was willing to trade sex for home repairs."

That's when they start posting, machine-gun style.

"Gee, I don't know, you don't have any real contact information in the ad, do you?  I mean, you just used an email address that's not giving out your name, right?  Guys are sometimes kinda clueless..."  True, good advice, and that's what I'd done anyway.

"My God, why would you do that?  I could set you up myself!  I know this great guy named Dan, who writes a column for the Seattle Weekly, you'd LOVE him!"  Um, Dan, who writes for the Weekly?  Isn't that the "Hey, Faggot!" column?  Thanks anyway.

"Wow, that's funny!  When you go out with this guy, could I go with you and sit at another table?  I want to watch!"  Great.  Now my friends are voyeurs.  That's all I need, someone watching me!

"I don't know... how are they supposed to know it's a joke?  You didn't use any smilies or anything, so what happens if they take it seriously?"  Well, of course I didn't use any smilies, I want somebody who's going to see that it's silly, and respond appropriately.

"ROFL!!!  How many hits have you gotten?  What a hoot!  Yeah, it's a little subtle, but you want somebody who's going to respond to that kind of humor, right?  Leave it up!  Believe in yourself!"  Okay, so there's at least one voice among my friends who doesn't think I'm insane.  I'm starting to think I AM insane, though.

"I know you, and you're NOT joking.  But you ARE crazy!  Do you know what kind of people respond to these ads?  Impotent 60 year old married men who say they're 27 and single!   And you might as well have signed up with Stalkers.com!"  Of course I was joking!  Okay, sure, there are probably some impotent sixtyish guys who are responding, but... Stalkers.com?  That's a little over the top.

"Lacie, you of all people!  Reinforcing the idea of sex as a commodity.  Sheesh.  You know better than that.  What were you thinking?  Did you even consider the message that you're sending out about the role of women in society?"  Okay, she's got a point, I gotta give her that.  Every word is right.  But it was a JOKE.  Why isn't anybody seeing that?

"Yeah, I guess you're right.  But... you're ALL right, so what do I do?"

"Pull it."

"Leave it up."

"Yank it."

"Give it another day."

"Gee, thanks for the consensus, guys.  G'night!"

Sheesh.

***

In my dreams, I find myself trying to deal with a never ending inbox.  In the dream, it's not an email inbox, but the classic wire basket inbox, piled with papers.  Every time I take a piece of paper out to handle it, the stack grows by two new pieces.  There aren't any people visible who are putting these things in my inbox, so there's nobody to try to stop from doing this, they're just popping in, every time I take a piece of paper out.  I try putting paper back into the inbox, but that just makes three new pieces pop in, so I discard that strategy immediately.  I wake up feeling groggy and not well rested, but I'm afraid that if I go back to sleep, I'll be back in that dream... nope, I don't want to risk that, I might as well just get up.

Day Three (Friday)

Conversation on our coffee break today centered around the ad.  Uh-oh.  Somebody at work saw it last night, and responded to it.  I wonder if I'm going to be able to spot my co-worker, since I don't know who it is, and since you need to be pretty smart to work in IT, I'm guessing they're smart enough to also have used a blind email address.  I'd better ask all the questions I can get away with... oh, but without raising suspicion, I really don't want anybody I work with to have a clue!

"So who saw the ad?  Anybody I know?"

"Oh, somebody on Joe's team, one of the chipheads."

Gee, that's helpful, isn't it.  I'm going to have to ask more questions.  Without looking stupid.  Without tipping my hand.  Let's see...

"What did the guy do?  I heard he answered it!"

"Yeah, he said something about it sounded like all the perks of being married, and only having to fix some stuff around the house, none of the rest of the downside of marriage.  I don't know what he said, though.  Probably something disgusting, that whole team's a bunch of pervs.  I mean, really, how else would they find an ad like that?"

Sheesh.  Still not enough to figure out who.  And if I ask any more questions here, the gig is up, I'm going to be found out.  That's not going to bode well for my future here, so I'd better lay low.  Joe's team.  Had to be.  There's, like, eight guys on his team, and I think seven of them are single.  And yeah, they are all a bunch of pervs.  Great.

***

Back at home, I've got - surprise, surprise! - more email.  Thirty-seven, to be exact.  Here we go again, let's see what Mr. Wonderful has to say today...

"Hi, what kind of repairs are you looking for?  My brother is pretty handy around the house..." Ugh.  I can't help wondering why she's pimping for her brother, and I really and truly do not want to think about what she was searching for that led her to my ad.  I don't want to go there.  Delete.

"Hey, baby, this sounds like exactly what I'm looking for.  Lots of passion, no strings."  Why are these guys thinking I'm serious?  Is it possible that they're that clueless?  Is there no man in this entire Seattle area who can spot a joke when it smacks him in the head?  Delete.  Let's hope that was the guy from Joe's team, the "no strings" part kinda sounds like the rumor I heard.

"Hey, do you mean I hafta wear a condom while I fix the sink?"  Okay, this guy's obviously got the joke, right?  "But they don't stay on when I'm... you know... so are you gonna hang around naked while I'm working?  Keep me interested?"  Where do they come up with this stuff?  Oh, yeah, right.  I mentioned "safe sex and home repair".  This one's got some potential.  Doesn't have his real name, but what an email address!  RomeoWithHammer.  He must have opened that account just to respond to this ad!  "Of course you do, was that not obvious?"  Naah, that's pushing it.  "Well, you probably want to wear something, don't want to drop a wrench on Mr. Happy, do you?"  Yeah, that'll work.  Send.

More pictures.  Seven more pictures, that is.  Two faces - hey, the odds are getting better!  And this one's actually kinda cute!  What's he got to say for himself?  "I am liking the structure of your ad.  I think we are to no each other."  Crap.  Another foreigner, looking for a green card.  Delete.

"I'd love to meet you!  And I think in time you'd find out,  I can do much more with my hands than just hold a drill! ;)"  Hm.  He doesn't seem to have gotten the joke, but still seems to have a sense of humor.  I'll have to think about him.

Sleep, I need sleep.  I can't face this any more tonight.  And I never did spot any that looked like they might be from anyone I know.  Crap.  Oh, lord, I hope it's not the one I replied to!  No, it's got to be that "Lots of passion, no strings" guy.  Has to.