That's right, I'm finally going to tell you about Bart, my boyfriend of almost three years. Bart makes me swoon like a teenager and I haven't been a teenager in more than two decades. He's a man's man. You know, a real guy. He doesn't wear pink. He carries a pocket knife and a handkerchief. He likes sports. He has more tools than Home Depot and knows how to use them. He brought me one of his ratchets once. I keep it in the pencil holder on my desk and think of it as his version of a dozen roses, because it is. He doesn't get the point of romantic presents and flowers and stuff. What would you do with them any way?
He looked horrified one day when Dod told him he was going to a couples' wedding shower. He looked like poor Dod was about to be carried off and emasculated. I'd have to hit him in the head and hog tie him to get Bart to any kind of shower besides one with hot water. He is all man and that makes me very happy. I do not ever want to be involved with a metrosexual...ever...never...no how...no way...never! It's ok if you like your man fresh from the tanning bed with mousse in his hair and a new mani/pedi, but it's not for me. I digress...more about Bart...ah...my hero.
He's brilliant. He's a mechanical engineer except he's actually useful. A lot of people tell me engineers don't have practical skills. Bart does. The man has built everything from weapons systems to dog houses. He's worked for a defense contractor, the US military, and now a heavy equipment manufacturing company. He's in their problem solving division with four other old engineers. I guess they figure these guys have seen it all so they can probably fix it all. Yes, by chronological age Bart is quite a few years older than I am. Functionally, he's still young and fit. On paper, he's an old engineer.
He's handsome. He looks a lot like Paul Newman, blue eyes and all. But, my farm hands and clients only see him when he's dressed like Elmer Fudd. Yes, this gorgeous man likes to cover up all of that handsome with work pants, flannel shirts, work boots, and a plaid wool cap. Those are his "handy man" clothes. Really, he has specific clothes for fixing things in case he gets dirt or grease on them. The farm folks only see him this way because if he has to be here when they are here, he's fixing something.
Bart doesn't like to hang around the farm on business days, including my business day of Saturday. He says he doesn't want someone to ask him about horses. I don't know why he thinks they'd turn to him as a source of knowledge because he is a non-horse person and it's obvious in that outfit. I mean he looks like Elmer Fudd when he's here, not a cowboy. He also doesn't like to be around the "Herd of Little Christians" for long, except Dod. He likes Dod. I think he's afraid they'll try to make him talk about God. He's a "beliefs in action" fella and talking about it makes him uncomfortable. So, he tries not to engage them other than Dod.
Bart does like the farm and he likes that I work hard. He thinks I'm sexy on my tractor and cute in my Carhartts. It's this farm girl's dream come true. A man who understands what I do and that farm work is actually WORK. He also loves animals which is good because that's mandatory for being involved with me. His favorite horses are Tar, Big Mac, and Donkey Kong. I have no idea why, but those are his buddies. He gladly accepts that Spot comes first in my heart. I think it takes the pressure off of him not to have to be #1. Bart has three adult sons and seven grandchildren. Those are his #1s, which is ok with me because that's the way it should be. Besides, no one can rival Spot's total devotion to me.
This brings me to Bart's dog, Pip. Pip is a bachelor dog. Pip did not figure me into his plans. Pip was unloaded on Bart by his youngest son who couldn't keep him. He is an aging Boston Terrier and arrived post-separation/divorce. So, he's not used to sharing Bart with anyone. He's used to doing exactly as he pleases like any bachelor. He farts, snorts, snores, scratches, doesn't follow directions, goes out 10 times a day and pees on the floor anyway. The latter Bart swears is just in the past couple of years since he got diabetes. I think it's a combination of diabetes and dog Alzheimer's. Pip is supposedly 10. Pip looks 100. Pip has a lot of health problems including blindness. He runs into things even at his own house. Plod, plod, plod, bam! Huh? Was that there yesterday? Yes, Pip, it was, you just forgot. You also forgot you were housebroken, Pip. Paper towels, please.
Pip is the only animal I've not been able to make some headway with. I bribe him with treats and toys. I try to play special blind dog games with him. He doesn't care. He'll tolerate me for some treats, but mostly he wishes I would go away. "Leave me alone, lady. You bother me." Sometimes he goes in the other room and pouts on his bed. "I refuse to be in the same room with that girlfriend of yours, Pop. Let me know when she's gone. I want to fart and snort in the living room some more tonight."
I try to love, Pip, really I do. I pray for patience with him. Because, you know what? I think Pip is going to be around for a long time. He's not about to keel over and leave Bart with some girlfriend. He thinks, "Geez, what does he want with a stupid girlfriend when he's got me?" The whole thing just chaffs his butt, I think. He's not going to give in no matter how many health problems he has. He's digging in, like the terrier he is. I better pray for some more patience. Maybe I should ask my "herd of little Christians" to put me and Pip on a prayer list?
Well, Bart should be showing up any minute for our abbreviated weekend together since half of his weekend is already gone. He'll have Pip in tow. Get out your rosary beads!
Good night everyone. Sleep tight.
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