Who needs men? I do, but don't tell!

Almost 10 years ago, it started.
As the male population in our house began to disappear, I came to realize that it was up to us girls to hold down our makeshift fort. We surveyed the wreckage of the half-finished and never-started projects left behind by our male compatriots, linked hands in the bonds of female survival, and uttered those sacred words...

"I'll get the duct tape!"

Our initial efforts were, understandably, amateur- things like moving all the furniture on the 2nd floor into the bathroom, so that renovations could be done to the bedrooms, or somehow lifting all the furniture in the sitting room so that we could straighten out that big bubble in the carpet. Looking back now, I shake my head patronizingly at our sense of accomplishment over such trivialities. But, in that moment, we were invincible! We were going where few women had gone before! And there we coined our mantra: "WHO NEEDS MEN?!" (This was followed by a hearty high-five and a trip to Rita's or Starbucks:)

I soon learned that I wasn't the only woman who flexed her muscles behind closed doors and barred windows. I spent one summer living with family while they adjusted to life with a new baby. One day Mama Sara and I decided to tackle the landscaping while Baby was fast asleep. Mama was a farm girl, and I was already versed in the ways of independence, so we made a tough team. I grabbed the weed wacker and a pair of safety goggles and began to attack the waist-high weeds that had taken over the entire backyard. Mama grabbed the lawn mower and revved it up as she approached the front lawn.

The sweat glistened on our foreheads and our muscles flexed easily as we battled the elements.
We were women!
We were strong!
We were competent!
We were-
DANG IT! I just weed whacked my shin!

I paused from my rantings to run inside for some gauze or a tourniquet or something like that. As I glanced out the front window, I saw the epitome of female strength and determination:

There was Mama Sara whacking the mower with a broom!

Turns out our equipment was less-than-satisfactory, and she was doing her best to make that mower cooperate. (This is also the woman who, with a deranged glint in her eye, declared her new spatula to be the perfect future tool of discipline for Baby...) To this day, neither Mama Sara nor I will admit that we were defeated. We were merely hampered by the incompetence of those around us.

Inspired by such feats, I decided a couple years later to take on the job of ripping down the wall paper in the dining room. I chose a day when Mom was gone, hoping to surprise her upon her return. As I surveyed the large pieces of furniture around me, I pysched myself out for the heavy manual labor. I could do it! How hard could it really be to rip a little paper? Just then there was a knock on the door, and 4 of my West Point friends walked in. They'd heard I was attempting a project and wanted to help. Well, naturally, I didn't NEED them, but they were welcome to WATCH... or maybe go grab some supplies I didn't know were necessary... or perhaps help strip the walls...... after they possibly moved the furniture... but only if they WANTED to because it wasn't like I was asking or anything....

In the end we- I mean I- did a great job, proving once again that girls can do anything.

Just a few weeks ago, my dear mother and I were ripping up the carpets in our house. I started the project at 6PM, and we were nearly finished with the dining room by 9. As we knelt over the dusty wooden beams of the newly-exposed wood and pulled out the nails lining the perimeter of the room, I reflected again on how far this Dream Team had come. Surely we had arrived at a new level of professional independence. I mean, we could have rented ourselves out and started our own demolition company by this time! We were good, and we knew it! We could move furniture, we could strip wallpaper, we could landscape, we could rip up carpeting....

With a sense of satisfaction I nudged Mom, "Hey, who needs men, right?!"
And then I glanced across the room at the next room that lay before us- with three times as much furniture. I imagined Mom moaning as she fell out of bed the next morning. I felt my own weariness after a long day of work. Nonchalantly I whispered,

"...but I guess it would be sort of nice if the guys were around, huh....?"

"Yeah," she whispered back,"even though they got in our way and messed up our work, they were kind of fun to have around...."

The truth is that even we extremely talented, smart, and highly-competent (need I mention good looking?!)women occasionally need our men...

....but probably more often than we let on;)

Who needs men? We do! (But don't tell!)