I'm deluged with requests for compliments by online sellers of rugs and curtains, Discount Tires, road service, my internet provider, and by customer services following every transaction.  Are we fast enough, good enough, nice enough? they ask.

I feel so--needed, so necessary, so vital to their survey team.

I got hooked from the start.  If you provide your email address, you will get a discount on your first order.  I did and I did, but I got more than I bargained for in requests for feedback and stars.

If I get inferior service, I complain on the spot.  For good customer service on the phone--which is so appreciated--I express gratitude. But these endless surveys?  Enough already.

Edward just left after a full day of backsplash installation, and Elver after seeing what kinds of switches we need and to read the installation instructions for the new microwave.

"What do I owe you?" I ask Edward. Unlike Elver, he doesn't care much.  "Whatever," he always says, then cleans his worksite meticulously.  "Like a woman," he teases.  "I'm just like a woman."

"What do you want me to bring you from Virginia?" I ask.

"What do they have in Virginia?"

"A bobble head of Trump?" I offer.

"No way," he says.  "I'd really like a white T-shirt with Virginia on it."

We've spent this entire week together.  It's been like having a little brother in the house.  When he left, he cautioned me to lock everything, said he'd stop by to check on things, and gave me an Edwardian hug.  He won't send me a request for feedback.

We got a nice rain as these two men were packing to leave, and we're all happy as little kids to see some moisture and a ten-degree temperature drop.