Say what you will. A woman can get excited about buying tools, too.

I am absolutely giggly and I will tell you why, but it has to remain our little secret. I just bought myself my very own electric screwdriver and drill set.

The clandestine part is I am not going to tell my husband or my children I possess this beautiful 32-bit creature. It’s mine, I tell you. All mine. I’m going to hide it under the bed and possibly even paint it in camouflage colors. Maybe I can just disguise it as a dust bunny.

Why all the stealth? Some of you already know. Those would be the readers with spouses and/or children who never, ever put anything away when they are through with it. The last time I tried to use the electric screwdriver that lives in our garage, I found six flathead bits and none of them fit it. I ended up using one that was too short and about every third turn it disappeared. I swore, at that moment, I would have my own someday.

The goofier my hands get with age, the more I want power tools. Besides, I am a delicate flower who should never have to exert herself any more than is absolutely necessary to tear up a rug, cut linoleum or pry loose a screw with 10 coats of paint on it.

I truly do think that the electric screwdriver is perhaps one of the world’s top 10 inventions altogether. I love getting tiresome chores done faster, faster, faster. In preparation for painting a bedroom, I zipped those sticky, old electrical outlet and light switch covers off in no time flat. It was very cool.

But I didn’t stop there. I was browsing around the department store, looking at this and that. I checked out the microwave ovens because I have to replace our usable but wildly ugly and rusted one before my son brings his college roommate home in two weeks. (God forbid he should report back to his mom that we have an icky microwave!) I also salivated over the $800-apiece front load, waist-height washer and dryer that you don’t have to bend over to use. (My credit card was quivering.) I strolled past perfumes, checked out earrings and the next thing I knew I was in the tool department.

I have been looking for a rotary sander. I have wrestled and lost with our decades-old sheet sander. It weighs a ton. It’s weak. I hate it and it isn’t really very fond of me. When I finish using it, my arms feel like pasta. But I have Spackle to smooth and a rusty spot on a car’s wheel well to deal with. And I probably have other stuff that needs sanding, too. I just don’t remember what it is right now. But when it comes to me, I will now be ready. Before I even spotted the electric screwdriver, I found my very own, almost small sander … and it was on sale. Oh yeah.

I think I am fortunate to have gotten out of there without spending more money. The salesman was a charming 20something with a southern drawl who smiled and called me ma’am. I am a sucker for that. He happily explained the differences between this one and that one, then scurried off to find accessories. I haven’t felt that indulged since my last pedicure.

If it’s any comfort to those who might question my secret tool stash, I did show my husband the sander. It isn’t really manly enough for him and it doesn’t have any parts he can lose, but I might still keep it in my underwear drawer, just to be on the safe side.