The Story of the Naked Handyman Who Loved Maple Syrup

reflecting on my two posts today, one involving a handyman and the other maple syrup, reminded me of a story about D.

D., a new referral from my regular carpenter who was unavailable, came by in the morning to do some house repairs. i offered a cup of coffee, as i usually do, and he asked me to add a touch of cream and a splash of maple syrup.

“maple syrup?” i said. “that’s a first.”

“just try it.”

i did.

it is yummy but then it’s sort of like having a morning dessert.

“the best thing,” he continued, “is maple syrup on an avocado half.”

“no,” i replied, “that’s going too far.”

“just try it,” he repeated. “smidge of salt, pour maple syrup in the middle, eat it with a spoon.”

“i don’t believe it.”

but try it i did. and it wasn’t bad per se, merely unusual. something about the consistency.

the work day continued, unabated.

then, as i was calmly preparing my afternoon lunch, the front door burst open and D. frantically appeared in the middle of my living room. without so much as a glance upward he started whipping off his clothes. a now airborne sweatshirt landed on the suede couch, his tee-shirt soon met the wood floor, and i found myself staring at a half-naked handyman.

not the plumber stereotype of a handyman, mind you, no: a proper organic grass-fed meat eating california coast six foot adonis type of a handyman.

“what exactly is it you think you are doing?” i politely asked D.

“well, i know it’s kind of early in our relationship to be stripping down like this, but i have a serious problem.”

“what possibly could it be?” i asked.

“i think i have a tick.”

“a tick? you’ve been around the house not in the field.”

“i must have gotten it yesterday.”

“are you about to take off your pants? please don’t.”

“i’m not taking off my pants, it’s here,” he twisted pointing to his back beneath his underarm, “can you check, please?”

i gingerly advanced and, in fact, it did appear a tiny bug was digging its way into him.

“i hope you are not expecting me to do something about it.”

“you have to get it out. i can’t by myself. it’s dangerous if it’s there longer than a day.”

there is nothing quite as disconcerting as the minuscule moving legs of a blood-sucking arachnid burying itself into soft human flesh.

“there’s a clinic a few minutes drive away, go there.”

he hemmed and hawed and i remembered my neighbor had given me a handy (no pun intended) tick remover tool and desperate D. convinced me to help.

crisis averted, and, although it may disappoint the humble reader who expected a dramatic integration of the aforementioned liquid sweetener to the rescue operation of the nude handyman, no: maple syrup was not involved.

and that concludes the true story of

The Naked Handyman Who Loved Maple Syrup.

if you liked my #story cash app your appreciation to $aristoclea