Men at work…

Those testosterone-driven snow-hotties that roamed the neighborhood last winter with their big, badass snowblowers clearing roads and drives and walks have morphed into autumnal roofer dudes. There’s a big, shiny, black Dodge Dakota parked next door with a large Timmies resting on the bumper. A roofer dude is lounging on the mother of all dumpsters watching — like a spotter at a trampoline — dead shingles flying off the roof. Hopefully, they aren’t mine.

It began a couple of weeks ago with a gazillion bundles of shingles arriving on the drive next to ours. They quickly disappeared into our neighbor’s garage awaiting the big day.

About three evenings ago, six morphed snow-hotties stood around in the late afternoon sun in jeans and shades, swilling some six-pack and making plans. I can only hope they were planning the roof reno and not the sequel to The Italian Job.

Two nights ago, the butt-ugly dumpster arrived. This project was beginning to cook.

Yesterday, as I pulled out of the drive for my adults only field trip to the Niagara Region, there was some serious knuckle-cracking going on. I could see the jet stream of testosterone riding the sky. You could probably see it, too.

Friday was a perfect day in every way. Okay. I admit I may have had too much wine at lunch, because I had to fight sinking into my theater seat and having a Rip Van Winkle moment. The man across the aisle from me was having no trouble having a post-lunch nap. His breathing dimmed with the lights, and I caught the strains of a subtle manly snore with the lowering of the curtain on the first act.

I’m still trying to unravel all the symbolism in J.B. Priestley’s An Inspector Calls. That may not be possible. Another day. Another post.

This morning, when I was trying to sleep-off the remnants of my away date, all I could hear was the rumble, thump, bang of men at work.

Big Black Dakota just pulled out of the drive. My guess — a Timmies run. It’s pretty early in the day for six-pack, even for roofer dudes.

Might as well crank up the tuneage. I’m thinking extreme headbanger.

Elen