I'm not stupid, but I'm willing to play the part

Ah, the twisted relationship I have with my plumber! He's in his mid-60s and retired. He takes only the occasional job as it suits him, and coming to my condo suits him.

Because he thinks I'm younger, sweeter and dumber than I am.

The first time he came here -- five years ago -- it was because he was curious. I called him, desperate for a plumber who would even answer the phone on Christmas Day. He was happy to come by on Christmas evening, after he finished his dinner, because he had handled the maintenance for this building when it was still apartments and he wanted to see what it looked like after it was converted to condos. When I told my friends and family that I had a Christmas evening emergency visit from a plumber scheduled, there was much concern and many warnings about what I'd be charged. By the time he showed up, I was pretty worried. (But hey, one needs a toilet.) Hours of apprehension took its toll on my Christmas spirit. When he only charged me $200 for parts and labor, I was grateful. Impressed by his integrity -- he could have charged me way more -- and his kindness, I thanked him profusely.

I made quite the first impression on him. One of the naive, damsel in distress variety. He's been here five times since and every time it's the same. Since I really need him, he'll come by, even though he doesn't really do this kind of thing anymore. He talks to me about his daughter, his "lady friend," and everyone else in his life. When he spins these tales, he always mentions the characters ethnicities (German, "Negro," Italian, Mexican), which makes me uncomfortable, because, really, what difference does it make? But because he doesn't use epithets, I let it go. I do more than that -- I pretend to be amused. He explains everything he's doing there under the sink, but he talks to me like I'm on the verge of tears over my decrepit pipes. Oh, and on the way out he this evening he carefully and pedantically advised me to not speak so quickly when leaving him messages on his answering machine. "You go a mile a minute, you know." Everything about our conversations is condescending and annoying.

But tonight he only charged me $140. He does a good job and he guarantees his work. And he always shows up within hours of when I call, even if it's not an emergency. So in exchange for prompt service, good work and almost criminally low rates, I will pretend to be Goldie Hawn's flightier sister. I predict he and I will continue this mutually beneficial relationship until I completely redo my bathroom and kitchen (target date: 2010).