Our power went off late Sunday night when a wild wind storm blew through West Virginia. Monday morning, I was packing Morgan off to a friend’s house in town where she could take a hot shower before heading to school, and I was trying to get the generator started. Despite purchasing a lovely brand new float charger, I had failed to keep the battery charged on my generator and the push-button start wasn’t working for me. It was going to have to be pull started. This wasn’t working for me, either, of course, so I started calling the usual suspects–my neighbors.
Jim wasn’t home.
Andy was on his way to Charleston, but he did answer his cell phone.
“My brother’s at my house,” he said. “Just go knock on the door.”
I drove the half mile up the road to Andy’s house, wondering if I was the only woman in the world who was this incompetent. There was a woman coming down the driveway from his door. I pulled in, rolled my window down, and said, “Is Andy’s brother in there?”
The woman said, “Yes, I just woke him up. I need him to come start my generator.”
Andy’s brother came to the door, pulling on his sweatshirt over his tee, and waved to me. “I’ll get you right after I take care of her.”
And that’s life if you’re a man down my holler.
Don’t try sleeping in.
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