The Good Men are Draped in Camo?

I have no idea why I was so worried about the contractor coming over. He couldn't have been nicer.

The thing is, if I were to put my finger on it, I was feeling exposed and somehow through that, fearful.

I've let my husband have the floor on his own break-up narrative. It didn't seem to matter to me as much letting others know my truth. He felt his reputation was the most important thing worth saving and letting him just go with it by not disputing, was going to be my strategy in not making him angrier. What do I care, it keeps me safe. He can have the world as long as I have my little piece of it and live in my truth with only the people that matter.

Unfortunately, I started thinking last night and, with that, came worry. No two contractors who do the same thing in a mid-size town like mine cannot know each other. They have to know something, even if it's a little blurb about the other, it's something. My husband has an unusual name as well, which makes it more pronounced the possibility of him being recognized. What if my contractor knows of or, even worse, has worked with my husband? Then, the jig is up. God knows what would happen to me if it got leaked to his audience that the signs of his dysfunctionality, and my narrative, were proven right. Than, my contractor could say to him, "Hey man, great job on getting angry and  destroying your house." He would be devastated and would either run away or .....???

I couldn't sleep that night, but when my contractor came over, he couldn't have been more gentlemanly (even with his camouflaged hunting hat on). Nervously, I showed him the outside of the house and then I finally had to reveal the internal damage.

First, I showed him the kitchen molding that had been dislodged. I could barely speak and just kept rubbing it. Than, I showed him the door down the hallway with the fist and knife marks in it. "Ah yes," he said, finally getting it, "I've seen a few of these." He went through and quietly took notes. I finally told him, "everywhere I look in here, I see violence. You're going to help me change my life." He was bashful and gently went over my plan of action by telling me where to get cheap solid core doors. He made me make a list of all the things I needed to do and get to make my house better. And, in the end, he explained that I wouldn't need to pay him any labor costs. It's best, he said, if I just barter with him by giving his wife facial and waxing treatments.  

He didn't seem like the hugger type of man, but as he left he gave me the side hug and whispered, "we'll take care of it."

There are good men out there. They may have a stupid camo hat on, but they are still good.