Not my forte

Okay. This is my not-so-secret shame. I am a giant wussburger. Always have been. I am really easy to run over. It's a big reason why I've become good at doing things for myself. Because I just HATE confrontation. Especially of the "Um, would you, please, if you don't mind, not screw me over? If that's okay with you, I mean." Wussburger. This is one of those instances where self-loathing is kind of warranted. I can hear part of my brain saying, "Speak up, you little cupcake." That part of my brain really hates it when I do that. Defending somebody else? I'm fine. Hell, I'm one tough bitch. Defending myself? I might as well have "WELCOME" tattooed on my forehead.

Like last night. I go into my newly completed bathroom, admiring the walls, admiring the new counter, admiring the new light fixture . . WTF? Most decidedly not admiring the end of my toilet tank lid that has been broken off. I mean, not cracked, not repaired. Just totally broke off. Son of a . . . Which means I'm going to have to call Contractor Steve. After he'd picked up his final payment. Dagnabbit. Because there's no way that conversation can go anything other than "What the fuqua, Steve?" Even in the politest way possible, that's basically a WTF. I know it. He'll know it. There's the whole miasma of calling you on this WTFiness. Gawd.

I'm perfectly within my rights. But I hate it. I hate that implicit criticism. I hate even the hint of getting in somebody's face. I know other people live for it. My sister could get a family crest emblazoned with Don't Tread On Me. I've watched her grab her knives for a street fight over this kind of stuff. Believe me, they did not know who they were messing with. Me? I spent about an hour on line trying to figure out if there was a way I could fix this myself and never have to make that call. Then I spent all night agonizing about it. What to say? How to say it? Can I just get my sister to call him?

Well, I pulled up my big girl panties and made the call. It went okay. He's going to make it right. I knew he would. I just hate having to ask.