In anticipation of his arrival, I cleared a path from my front door to the basement utility room. I would've done more, but as my friend TA says, you can't undo years of neglect in an hour.
So when I heard his tentative knock on my screen door, I was ready. Or so I thought. First of all, this was a GENTLE furnace guy. Did he announce his arrival with the ever-so-obvious doorbell chimes? No. Did he pound the door down? No. He barely carressed the frame of my delicate 43-year-old screen door...
My heart stopped as I beheld the sight in front of me. He was a typical Adonis, except he was my age, give or take a decade. I looked up into his smiling, kind eyes and forgot what he was here for.
"I'm here to service your furnace."
I couldn't speak. Seeming to understand, he ever so graciously opened the door, entered, and glanced around.
"Um...Do you want to show me your furnace?"
FURNACE???? Who cares about a fucking furnace?????? Fuck the furnace!!!!!
But I played along, flushed and breathless. (Let him deal with the furnace first.)
While he fussed around with the furnace, I was cautious to tiptoe lightly on the floor above him. Thank God I was wearing my best rags. The jogging bra, though, tends to flatten the chest, so I quickly replaced that with a padded Maidenform. He'd never know... I even managed to unearth some perfume that TA's mother had given me a few Christmases ago. Then I fired up the curling iron for the first time since college.
My heart raced when I finally heard his sexy boots ascending the basement stairs. The sweat on my forehead dampened the freshly made curls. Aiming for subtlety, I desperately tried to slow down my breathing. He stood very close to me while he wrote the bill, explaining in detail everything he'd done to the furnace. I heard nothing. I just stared at his face, entranced.
I didn't snap out of it until the echo of his words rang in the distance: "Thank you... see you in the spring..."