Yesterday was a very busy day in the middle of which I went to The Retrievers. I really like going to The Retriever household, even though it is demanding physical work and Mr. Retriever didn't start out as my favorite person. At least it's always interesting.

I think Mr. Retriever might be what you'd call a "man's man" although, never having been a man, it is impossible for me to tell for sure. He is extremely politically conservative, deeply into the right to bear arms and has an "every man for himself" sort of economic philosophy. I know this because, when I first started working there, he was given minor outbursts on these and other topics....

and when he found out I was a democrat who had acutally voluntarily lived in Massachussets for awhile his eyes narrowed with suspicion. But, I apparently clean bathrooms as well as the average conservative, and his wife liked me, so he couldn't munster up any complaint.

Besides, his world view is so wildly different than mine that I was deeply interested in what he had to say, since he does have actual reasons behind his beliefs, not just raw, blustering emmotion. At first, it was nearly impossible to get him to expand upon anything after his initial "blurt". But after he once spoke out - I guess to me, since I was the only person there besides the dogs - about the evils of income tax I leaned on my broom and said mildly, "Well, that's a very deep issue for a large number of people. You know, some members of my church have gone to jail rather than pay their taxes." ( I didn't mention my church or the objection. Quaker tax resisters often call income tax "war tax")

After that he spoke to me more respectfully - that is he'd say, "hello" before blurting and "see you later" to let me know when he was done.

One day, when my back was really killing me, The Hub went with me to carry the supplies and do some of the heaviest work. He had that day off, and was willing to help me.

"I gotta warn you before we go in here....this guy is a real asshat." I told The Hub, "He's liable to say anything at all, he's usually madder then a wet hen about something."

"I can't wait to meet him if YOU'RE calling him an asshat." The Hub said, ascerbically, "He must be a real treat."

"Well, he IS interesting. He's just not real, real pleasant."

We went in and I introduced The Hub and explained what his being there was all about. Mr. Retriever got up, shook his hand, inquired about my back, explained the layout of the house to The Hub with an emphasis on where the electrical outlets were. Mr. R. went out, came back, talked some more, told jokes and self depracating stories....he was charming. Butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth.

"Man, you really brought out the best in him." I complimented The Hub as we reloaded the car.

"Mmmm. Bet that effect lasts awhile too. Happens sometimes." The Hub said.

"Why?" I asked

"Well, now he sees you as the wife of a man who is like him. Before...well, some men kind of define women by the men they're with."

Wow. In this century even. But I know it's true.

And The Hub was right. Mr. R. has been noticeably more cheerful and friendly ever since.

Anyway, this is the house where the son, whom I've started to think of as Spider Man because of how he did in that wolf spider with the shaving cream awhile ago, is striving to get into shape to join the Marine Corps.

Spider Man is the kind of young man the milatary - or any employer, really - would DREAM of having. He's pleasant, polite, idealistic and deeply, and impressively motivated. If he does join the Marines it will be for the highest and noblist reasons. Even though I disagree with violence as a way to solve problems on any level, I respect the high ideals and dedication that many people in the armed services have and cultivate.

But, yesterday, he had a set back. There was a note that said he was sleeping in his parents room so not to worry about cleaning the master bath. Between the lines I read that the poor guy must have had a terrific asthma / allergy attack and was having to avail himself of his folks adjustable bed in order to get any sleep at all. That's what's holding him back from fullfilling his dream: no matter what he can't get his asthma 100% under control, though he's got to be in excellent physical shape. I felt bad for him, and had to control myself from cracking the door open a little bit just to check that he was okay.

So, I started in at the other end of the house to keep from waking him. Eventually, I got into the bathroom which is adjacent to the room where he was sleeping, and, after awhile I heard him stirring around. But he didn't come out. And he didn't come out.

And it occured to me: oh-oh, I bet that guy was sleeping in his underwear. All the guys I know my age and younger do...if they even sleep in that much. This guy has a code of honor which does not include flashing the housekeeper.

Well, he's a smart kid. He'll put on a pair of his dad's shorts and come out I thought, and went back to work.

Only to hear him exclaim ( because I was right next to the wall as the drawers slammed) "Oh Frig! These are HUGE."

Now the poor kid who is already a gentleman and may one day be an officer was trapped between his skivvies, his dad's far-too-big pants, and a housekeeper who, while technically old enough to be his mother was NOT his mother.

How can I let him know it's safe to come out? I wondered. I rattled the shower curtain. Hmm. I rattled it more loudly. "Good Grief!" I said loudly to the nearest retriever dog, "What is IN this bath tub?" There was nothing in the bathtub except the usual stuff which is always in that bathtub which is mostly 20 different kinds of shampoo. Still, the retriever dog came in in case it needed to be sniffed. I made a huge production of rattling the shower curtain closed. "I'm gonna have to get ALL THE WAY IN THIS BATHTUB to scrub this clean!" And then I thwacked the scrub brush up against the side of the shower closest to the wall of the room in which our young hero was trapped by his modesty as hard as I could and began to scrub like hell.

After about 15 seconds I was rewarded by hearing the door open and the patter of not-so-little feet heading down to the safety of his bedroom on the lower level.

I finished actually cleaning the bathroom. A television came on somewhere in the house. The nearest retriever left.

When I got back to the kitchen Spider Man was sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal wearing a spotless tee shirt and white pair of shorts. He gave me a polite mildly sheepish smile.

"Hey, Dude, how ya doin'? I hope I didn't wake you up." I said.

"You didn't wake me up." he said firmly and smiled broadly. It was the funniest thing. We both knew exactly what the other had been doing, but even a manners junkie like me doesn't have words for EVERY occassion!!!

By the way, least you think that Mr. Retriever is a complete olf, I should share this with you. In the basement of their house, covered in dust, there's a huge award meant to be prominently displayed. The award was given to Mr. Retriever by a former employer. He saved the life of one of his co-workers during a grave industrial accident at serious risk of his own life. Most people would have something like that in their den....but this guy has it stuffed in with some junk under the stairs. Who can say why.

Maybe one day he'll blurt something out about it.