Hardware Store Confidential

In the middle of July in the Hamptons, it is nearly impossible to find a handyman, and despite my best Budweiser buying efforts at the Corner Bar, I had no luck. As an independent woman, I decided to take things into my own hands, literally. I could buy lumber and cut it to size and nail it in place. How hard could it be?

It would be unfair to say I am not handy. I have used duct tape as a strapless bra in a pinch and lavender furniture polish as an exfoliant (although that was actually by mistake and a bit unsafe when I later read the fine print — do not get in contact with skin — after a full body scrub).

In the first local hardware store, I procured the proper wood and asked sheepishly if they could cut it to size. No luck. “Okay,” I said, “Then I’m going to need a saw.”

Maybe trying to hold one end with my flip flop-clad foot on a rocking chair on the front porch while holding the other end on the table with the geranium plant wasn’t the best set up. After huffing and puffing, I didn’t get very far with the wood but I did break the saw. Too embarrassed to go back to the first store, I headed to the second hardware store.

At this point, I’m sweating like a pig and last night’s mascara is halfway down my cheek. I am mumbling curses under my breath and run right into an ex. Him: “What are you doing?” Me, grunting: “Buying a saw.” Him: “Better keep that first aid kit handy.” My thought of possibly surreptitiously charging said saw to his house account was now out the window.

I had hoped to rewrite the encounter with me in a diaphanous dress with Sven by my side sharing a romantic giggle about needing to repair the bed post after last night.

Nope. There is pretty much nothing like telegraphing to an ex that you don’t have a man in your life than when you are buying not only your first, but second saw of the day. I had defended my He-Man ability to my sister who said, “Um, you know that you actually have a set of floral handled screwdriver and hammer right?”

As I tried to wield this much larger saw, I thought the first aid kit actually wasn’t such a bad idea. But after a few false starts, I did manage to accomplish the task and, despite not being able to move my right pinkie finger, considered my carpentry a success. As I sat holding my glass on the porch with my remaining functional fingers, I thought, “Who needs a man? I got this.”

After this experience I know exactly what I want for my birthday — an electric screwdriver — floral handle optional.

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