Rude Boss

“Yeah. I was saving that one for Ella. She was supposed to come over here and help me.”

“She no-showed on you?”

“She had something come up. She said she’d be over here later.”

Why am I explaining anything to you?

“You might want to call her and let her know you got some help now. Where’s the roller brush?”

“Essex, I really don’t—”

“Where is it?” he asks, looking at boxes and bags on the floor.

I say, “It’s in the kitchen in a Lowe’s bag.”

He walks over there. “Ah…found it.” He heads back over to where I am – by the wall, nervously trying to paint without messing up the trim.

I tell him, “Since you insist on doing this, I can try to find something to protect your clothes. I got an apron around here somewhere—”

“I’m good.” He pours some paint into the tray and rolls the brush in it.

“Are you sure? I know your clothes must cost a fortune and that brush is going to have paint flying everywhere.”

“I said I’m good, so stop asking me.” He rolls a few strokes on the wall.

“See, this is why I don’t like you.”

He stops and looks at me. I swear I see a twinkle in his eyes before he smiles and says, “You don’t like me because I’m trying to help you?”

“No. I don’t like you because of your mouth. You spew out insults so easily, you don’t realize when you say them.”

“How? Give me an example.”

“You just did it. You told me to stop asking you if you were sure about not protecting your clothes from the paint. That’s a prime example of you being rude.”

“You’re right. I am good at it, aren’t I?”

I roll my eyes and pick up my paintbrush. Trying to get through to him is pointless.

He says, “That’s why you’re going to be helping me with that, right? When you perceive I’m out of line at work, or with you, it’s your job to correct me.”

“Yeah, sure...” I dip my brush in the paint.

He says, “With that brush, you’d be better served just doing the edges, especially since you didn’t put down any tape to protect the molding. I’ll handle everything in between.”

And now he’s taking over…

He’s really getting into it, rolling the brush up and down the wall. He takes off his shirt and now he’s just wearing the white tank and jeans.

Jeez!

The man has arm muscles for days and a palisade of muscles peering through his tank. I try to pretend I’m not watching him, but I can’t help but watch the way his muscles bulge as he goes up and down with the roller brush.

Up and down.

Up and down.

He’s taken on this task like it’s one of his work deals. He’s very serious about it – giving it his all.