Worst Wingman Ever

by Abby Jimenez

“You are unbelievable,” I said, rolling fresh socks on Grandma’s feet. I glanced up at my sister. “What else?” Her eyes sparkled. “The tile aisle is where it’s at. Those guys are ripped and they make good money. Also, they’re good on their hands and knees.” Grandma was snickering. “Plumbing and electrical fitting is another good one. They’re trade guys. Professionals. But the place to go, the pot of gold, the fishing hole of the hardware world”—she paused dramatically—“is the tool aisle.” We were all watching her now, captivated. “You want the guys buying the red tools,” she said, making eye contact with each of us. “Red tools are a green flag.” “Why red?” Mom asked, drying a bowl with a rag. “Those are the expensive, professional ones.” She propped her foot on the edge of Grandma’s bed and did a hamstring stretch. “You could make an exception for a guy with yellow tools if he’s cute enough. But never green. Ever.” “No green,” I said, smacking her foot off the comforter. “Got it.” Mom was shaking her head. “Where did you learn all this?” “I drink iced coffee and I know things.”