The Stetson Man

My landlord just came by with the maintenance man to help out.

He needed to work on a light fixture. He’s a short man, with a soft Greek accent. Gray hair. He greets me with a hug and kiss on the cheek, very affectionate.

As I watched him work on things, I was fascinated. While fixing the thermostat, which had come loose, he used a drill with a little light on it. I complimented it, he said it was a “special” drill. He enjoyed it so much. He worked steadily, very focused.

When he got to one of my windows, he had to fix the storm window. “God bless America!” he said, whilst annoyed at a snag.

Although his temper flared whilst trying to jimmy a window free, it was endearing. He reminds me of my Dad, who is prone to exclamations when something small happens like that. He has a bald head, and sometimes the trunk of his car will slam down on his head while he’s looking for things in the trunk. “Goddammit!” he’ll yell. But he’s a generous, kind, wonderful man. Once he gets it out, his anger quickly passes and he’s back to his usual amiable mood.

As he packed up to go, I noticed he smelled good.

“You smell good,” I said to him. “What cologne are you wearing?”

“Stetson!” His chest inflated.

He leaned in. “Smell!”

I did, and he smelled great.

I haven’t flirted in ages, but I couldn’t help flirting with this cute old man.

As he walked out, we both laughed.

I’m glad my maintenance guy is a Stetson Man.


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