Someone emailed me and asked me what I “love” about my plumbers. So alrighty then, let’s get to it.

It’s not necessarily my plumbers I love, although I do love them. Their phone never goes to voice mail, and their receptionist calls me warmly by my first name. When I send an email at 2:00 a.m. in a panic about goose feces, by the time I call them at 9:00 a.m. they have already read my email and are ready with an appointment. They don’t mind going in my house if I’m not home. And they laugh with me when I’m dumb.

They make my life easier.

Hear that? Easier.

Listen, I don’t expect my life to be “easy” all the time. Life is often tough, for anyone. But only another widow can possibly understand the gratitude we feel when anyone, especially men who know how to do “stuff,” helps us.

In the movie “It’s Complicated,” divorced Meryl Streep’s character balks when Steve Martin’s character helps her with a small job. He asks her what’s wrong.

“I’m just not used to people helping me,” she answered.

I felt that.

I don’t want to handle stuff. I’m not good with “stuff.” I don’t want to learn about hot water heaters, or moldy ceilings, or brake pads, or leaky faucets, or chipped paint, or new windows. Everything about being a spoiled entitled little girl rebels at the thought of understanding house “stuff.” I just want to walk into my house, turn on a light, and live my life.

But I must learn about “stuff.”

It has been an odyssey. I have learned so many things not just about my house but about myself in these past four years. Just the act of sweeping errant animal waste out of the mechanical room, knowing that the plumbers could walk in unencumbered had me strutting around the house with pride and looking left-and-right for a superhero cape.

Wonder Mom.

There was no cape to be found, but it didn’t diminish the pride I felt about accomplishing such an extremely distasteful task. You know why I did it?

I had no choice. I have no choice. Because with my sons gone, there is no one to help me with it. This is occasionally sad, but mostly good.

I once wrote a magazine article about female solo travel, and I interviewed some of the women I was in Canada with. This was an extremely physically arduous adventure trip, and actually quite competitive. Everyone wanted to ride horses better, spelunk faster, and climb more dexterously than the next gal.

“Why do you solo travel?” I asked my new friends.

“Because there are no men on these trips,” one woman answered. “When I travel with my husband (or sons, or brothers), I find myself looking to them to help me. I default to being helpless. ‘Can’t do this, can’t do that,’ until by the end of the trip I realize I didn’t improve my skills at all. If I travel with women, I have no choice but to do it myself.”

Holla.

People who make my life easier are few and far between. My plumbers are in that exclusive group, as are my handymen, my mechanic, the local electronic guys who installed my sound system, the electricians who fixed my counter lights, my lawyer, the car detailing guys who pick my car up and bring it back, and my interior decorators.

I don’t mind writing the check. Just for God’s sake make my life a little easier. But if you make my life more difficult? In any way at all? That’s easy.

I’ll drop you like a bad habit. Simple as that. No hard feelings, but you know, fuck you. I’ve done my time with “hard.” I’m all about easy now, baby.

Let me conclude with some sexy phrases that if interested, you can use them on me to get me all hot and bothered. Here are my top ten phrases from people who make (or have made) my life easier:

I’ll head over in an hour and take a look.

No worries, Mary, we’ll take care of it.

I’ll do it for you.

Nah, let me do it. I got it.

I can fix that for you.

Let’s set up an appointment for tomorrow.

I see your problem, that’s an easy fix.

Your car is fixed.

Just confirming our appointment today.

And my favorite:

It’s not something for you to worry about it. Leave the worry to me.

Mmmmrawrrrr….