Stereotypical

I have always said that I don't buy into stereotypical husband and wife roles in marriage.

I think it's great that Better Half can work the washing machine, knows how to cook something other than toast, goes to parent-teacher conferences when I'm not around, cleans kitchens pretty well when he can stay focused, and is the best paint color picker-outter I know. I think he can even put hair into pigtails.

And I...well...sometimes I mow the lawn. :o) I have used an electric sander and a drill when absolutely necessary. I can kill spiders (but I really don't like to) and I did change the faucet in my bathroom (with a LOT of help from my dad).

Okay. Fine. I really just think it's great that my husband can do all of the things that I can do. I can't really do the stuff he does. But I wish I could. At least some of the stuff he does.

So when I woke up Friday morning to a lukewarm shower and then no hot water at all, I began to panic. Gas...Pilot lights...Water heaters...these are Better Half jobs.

But Better Half isn't here.

So I call him. Even though there's a two hour time difference and it's only 5:30 am there.

Don't judge. No hot water is an emergency, people. We could have a gas leak or something.

He suggests that I check the water heater.

I take a look at it. There is no pilot-light glow in the little pilot-light peephole.

I remind myself that I can read. And I'm college educated. I read the directions on the water heater for igniting the pilot light.

I follow them.

No "woosh" of gas. No warm glow of pilot light.

I try again. And again. Still no success.

So I call the gas company. Something is clearly wrong. Gas is clearly not getting to my water heater.

To make a long story short, they send out a guy.

A very nice guy who gets the pilot light started In. One. Try.

Forthelove.

And if that wasn't enough.

Later in the day, it started to get muggy. So I went to the thermostat and cranked down the AC a couple of degrees.

Usually this is followed by a whir of noise and deliciously cold air from the floor vents.

On Friday--no whir of noise. No deliciously cold air from the floor vents.

Panic started to set in. There's a contract on this house. Someone wants to buy it. And we've got a broken air conditioner.

Yep. You guessed it. I called Better Half. He said to call the air conditioner people.

They came right over.

And...wait for it.

Walked downstairs to the basement and flipped a switch on the breaker box.

I am not kidding about this.

They were very kind. They helped me save face by telling me that our unit was "a little low on freon and needed to be cleaned out." So they fueled it back up and turned my hose on it to get the dirt off. They told me to have a great day.

So much for girl power. I'm kind of feeling like the clueless "little woman" these days.