What is this, 1950?

Not to go all crabby-face on you, but chauvinism is a big pet-peeve of mine. There are a lot of things I love about the 1950s-- come see my house or my wardrobe, and you'll understand how influenced I am by the aesthetic. However, men, your "I'm better than you because I'm a man" attitude went out of style YEARS ago.
So the other day, there's a knock at my parents' door. I peer out the window and see a very unattractive man with a beer gut hanging out of his stained white T-shirt. His dirty boots and jeans are typical of workman of every kind, and his long-blond mess of hair doesn't really do much to distract from the big patch missing up top. I assume he's a customer, and open the door to be friendly.
"Hey little lady, is the boss-man at home?"
Seriously.
At that moment, I knew EXACTLY who he was-- one of those asphalt dudes. They always use the same line. They ask for "the boss" or "the man of the house" and then give you a bunch of b.s. about how they've just completed a job down the road and they have JUST enough asphalt to re-surface your driveway. My dad let someone do this once. It looks pretty nice. But when a year later he heard the same line, things sounded suspicious. Maybe we wouldn't have noticed if another tool-box came to the door the very next week with the same pitch. Now, it happens at least a couple of times a summer, and I don't know which to be more insulted by: the fact that they assume only the "man of the house" could make this decision, or the fact that they think my little girl memory won't get jogged when they press the tape recorder that is their speech function. Ugh.
Ironically, I've thought of having my own front drive coated in asphalt, but I guess they wouldn't be interested because there's not a man to give me permission. Oh well, they can take that extra load and add it to the load of crock they're trying to feed me. Not buying, you Neanderthal.