I beg your fucking pardon?

Ok, anyone who's been following this blog is probably more than familiar with the fact that I have undertaken some home improvement projects. While I'm certainly not auditioning for "Monster House" anytime soon, I think I've a fairly good grasp of which end is the business end of a screwdriver and how to apply paint to a wall.

I'm also well aware that the Land of Home Improvement is often considered a man's domain, and when a woman dares to step out of the "interior decorating" section at Home Depot, the occasional sexist comment is par for the course. Annoying as fuck, but it happens. Whatever.

But tonight...well...let me just tell you what happened:

I'm sitting here at Ye Olde Laptop, chatting away with various people, when there was a knock at the door. At first I hesitated, given that I'm not overly presentable: covered in paint, dust, and my house wreaks of polyurethane. But then I figured -- they're showing up uninvited, so they can deal with my less-than-presentableness. I answered, and was met with two people carrying binders and briefcases. I first thought -- "shit! missionaries!" But a quick glance at their name tags showed that they were with a home improvement company. Alright then...I'll listen. So I stepped out onto the porch.

They launched into a shpiel about all their home improvement specials, and started rattling off other things I could do to my house. This immediately caused my blood pressure to rise and my spleen threatened to explode -- NO MORE PROJECTS, damn it!

So I cut him off and said, "Look, I've already got a lot of projects going, I really do have it covered right now."

He didn't seem phased. He said, and I quote, "Well, why don't we give you a call on Monday? Then we can talk about it with your husband."

Pardon?

It was in a very condescending, "well, we need to talk to the person who makes the decisions" tone of voice. Even the woman who was with him looked at him like, WTF?

I gave him my iciest stare and said, "*I* am making the decisions about this house. If you think I need my husband's permission to do so, our business is concluded." And I went inside, shut the door, and turned off the porch light.

WTF kind of sexist douchenozzlery is this? Seriously? How in the world did this guy think that that comment would win him any kind of business? Just because I lack a fifth appendage does not make me incapable of doing my own home improvement, or making decisions thereof. I mean, I even mentioned that I was refinishing my hardwood floors. Now that I think of it, he looked rather stunned at the notion. Jerkoff.

So help me, if they come back, I will smack him over the head with a Skilsaw, shove a caulk gun up his ass, and let HIM explain to the ER physician why he needs seven tubes of caulk removed from his large intestine. Then again, maybe I'll also bash his teeth in with a palm sander so his wife will have to explain it to the physician.

Come back, asshat, I dare you...