WORK THAT MAN’S EGO
A Moral Tale for the Ages (and for Every Woman Who Knows How to Get a Job Done)
If you’ve ever asked a man to do something and got that long, drawn-out sigh that sounds like a hound dog in July heat — this one’s for you.
Maggie had been asking Paul for six solid months to hang those new kitchen windows in the barn apartment. Every time she brought it up, she got the same performance, right on cue:
He’d throw his hands in the air, shake his head, and say,
“Maggie, I don’t have TIIIIIMEEEE!”
Now, the way Paul said “time” made it sound like some rare, endangered species — like there was only one left in the wild and Maggie was tryin’ to hunt it.
So Maggie waited. And waited. Until one fine Saturday morning, she decided she’d had enough waiting to raise a whole litter of puppies.
She poured herself a strong cup of coffee, tied her hair up with that red rag he said made her look “ornery,” and marched right out to the barn.
The Setup (otherwise known as the Bait)
Maggie dragged the saw out, rattled the ladder loud enough to wake the crows, and let the measuring tape zing! across the floor a couple times for good effect.
Then she muttered — loud enough to drift toward the house —
“Hmm… wonder which end of this saw does the cutting part?”
She grinned to herself.
The trap was set.
Because see, Maggie knew her man.
He could ignore her words all day long — but he could not, under any earthly circumstance, ignore the sound of her messin’ with his tools.
Five minutes later, the screen door slapped open.
Here came Paul, stomping across the yard in his old work boots, one lace untied, face red as a beet.
“Maggie! What are you doin’ with my saw?” he barked, that vein on his temple throbbin’ like a telegraph line.
“Oh, just tryin’ to help,” she said sweetly. “Didn’t want to bother you since you don’t have TIIIIIMEEEE.”
The Hook
That did it.
He snatched the saw out of her hands like it was a newborn baby.
“Lord have mercy, woman, you’ll cut your fingers clean off!”
Next thing she knew, he had the saw plugged in, the tape measure slung over his shoulder, and was muttering about “proper alignment” and “load-bearing angles” like he’d just graduated from the University of Window Science.
Maggie just leaned on the doorframe, sipped her coffee, and said,
“You’re doin’ great, honey. I’ll go make us some sandwiches.”
“Now, that’s a little piece of Appalachian wisdom right there — work that man’s ego and watch the hammer start swinging!”
By Noon
The first window was in — straight, square, and sealed tighter than a mason jar in canning season.
By two o’clock, all three were done. Paul stood back, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork like Michelangelo lookin’ at the Sistine Chapel.
“See?” he said proudly. “Didn’t take me long once I got goin’.”
Maggie smiled sweet as molasses. “Nope,” she said. “Didn’t take long at all.”
Inside, she was laughin’ so hard she nearly spilled her tea.
That Night
They sat on the porch, the sun going down over the hills, and Paul kept glancin’ at those windows from his chair, proud as a rooster that just found his reflection.
Maggie let him have his glory.
Because she knew — and every wise woman knows — that sometimes, if you want a man to do something, you don’t nag him.
You just start doing it wrong.
And when his pride gets itchy enough, he’ll fly out of that chair like a cat hearing a can opener. That’s what I call good old Appalachian wisdom passed down from the porch.
The Moral
Work that man’s ego.
He’ll turn on a dime to prove he can do it better.
It’s not trickery — it’s psychology, mountain-style.
You don’t fight fire with fire. In fact, you just light a little spark under his ego and let it burn long enough to get the job done. 😄
Written by Hannah Cedars
Appalachian storyteller, writer, and herbal folklorist behind The Appalachian Sage.
She believes laughter heals, sass motivates, and a well-timed red rag can change the course of a Saturday.
Find more porch wisdom and handmade mountain goods at theappalachiansage.com.