I Love My Plumber

...and so would you, if you met her!

That's right, she's a woman, and not only that, but she's at least 65 years old. She has blond hair and big fat lenses in her glasses. She's of some European ancestry--Polish-Catholic, I'd guess. She speaks excitedly, with an accent, and when she's done, she asks me all kinds of interested questions about the kids. Then when she leaves, she takes my face in her hands and kisses me soundly on each cheek.

She loves it that we have a big family and that we homeschool. In fact, she's given me a discount before, citing those reasons. I'm afraid if she ever saw Papa Rooster in his collar, she'd tear up her bill!

She really knows her stuff, too. She usually brings her ancient husband along, and she sends him off to go listen to water elsewhere in the house or go turn on a faucet somewhere, but it's clear that he's only the assistant. She's the boss.

Last time she was here, replacing our sump pump, she gave the boys magnets--right off her wrist--to play with, because her grandsons discovered that these strong, pellet-shaped magnets make a really cool sound humming sound when they're tossed up and attract in mid-air. Now she buys them in bulk and hands them out to clients' kids, apparently.

After three hours of labor, I asked if she had time to look at one more thing--a toilet handle that you couldn't just push and walk away from, you had to stand there holding it. Quick as a wink she sent Hubby out to the truck to get the part needed, and she had it changed before you could say how-much-do-I-owe-ya?

Double-cheek kisses all around, and she was on her merry way.

If I ever write a novel, she's gonna be in it.