Her Name

A definitive female first name did not prevent her from wanting to be a carpenter. The ad stated in bold letters, FRAMER WANTED. She changed into jeans, a work shirt, metal toe capped boots and applied at the job site. Third in line of all males a man looked at her application, glanced up and asked, “So you want to be a framer?”

The girl knew she was in trouble; picked up a hammer and in two blows drove a spike through a board. “Yes.”

She and four men waited for the manager’s decision. He pointed to her, “You, report tomorrow morning to the foreman, Bud, my son.”

8am sharp, she was told, “The foreman is on another job, be here in an hour, help assemble wall studs.” Bud arrived, a handsome young guy, and was informed of the new employee, “working on a door jamb.” He called, “You, come here.”

You, in jeans, a tool belt around a slender waist, removed a hard-hat, shoved goggles up into curly black hair, wiped perspiration from her forehead and strolled toward him, hips swaying. The foreman knew, You was definitely all woman, smiling.

He asked, “What are you happy about?”

“I’m pounding nails.”

The foreman called out, “Hey everyone, meet our new framer, her name is Nails.” and told the girl, “Go be happy.”

She sauntered off, hips swiveling, turned, smiling, “Bud, I like my new name.”