Right. I read a story about a single gal living in an apartment in New York. She made friends with a single guy in the same building that had a tool kit. Whenever she encountered a "honey-do," she'd invite him over for dinner. The thought processes each went through could be summarized as:
She: "He's a miracle worker. He can put up a towel rack so it doesn't fall down and all I have to do is throw another potato in the pot."
He: "For a couple of thirty-five cent bolts, I get a scrumptious rack-of-lamb dinner prepared by a miracle worker!"
Then they had sex.
Worked out well for everybody concerned.