This week I’ve been very busy with work, so when the phone lines went down yesterday, I took a self –imposed break. Not that the internet is 100% of my work, but my current project involves research, which is more conveniently pursued online.
Regrettably, my brain remained in work mode so my favorite diversions seemed unappealing. Thus began the cleaning frenzy. I vacuumed every room. I vacuumed the window ledges, baseboards, corners and all the secret places where dust bunnies collect. I vacuumed ceiling fan blades, refrigerator coils and kitchen drawers. I was just about to drag my vacuum across the street to thoroughly clean Green Peace Lady’s house when the telephone repairman arrived.
I answered the door with a cheerful flourish. About twenty-two, with reddish hair and clear pale skin, the telephone repairman was a twin of the actor who played in Napoleon Dynamite (out of character). I was surprised by the similarity, and on the verge of saying something foolish, when I noticed he was blushing. Immediately, I assumed that I opened the door in my underwear and did a quick check (at times I am too unselfconscious for my own good). My tee shirt and shorts were intact, unstained and right-side out.
Still blushing and avoiding eye contact, the repairman left to spend the next two hours tracking down and repairing the problem--a broken line caused by construction behind us. Before I settled down to watch a taped marathon of Mummy Detectives, I checked myself in the bathroom mirror. No crusty dangling boogers or unnoticed enormous pimples. I certainly discounted the notion that the repairman was overcome by my stunning beauty, but I left the bathroom feeling slightly flattered.
Regrettably, my brain remained in work mode so my favorite diversions seemed unappealing. Thus began the cleaning frenzy. I vacuumed every room. I vacuumed the window ledges, baseboards, corners and all the secret places where dust bunnies collect. I vacuumed ceiling fan blades, refrigerator coils and kitchen drawers. I was just about to drag my vacuum across the street to thoroughly clean Green Peace Lady’s house when the telephone repairman arrived.
I answered the door with a cheerful flourish. About twenty-two, with reddish hair and clear pale skin, the telephone repairman was a twin of the actor who played in Napoleon Dynamite (out of character). I was surprised by the similarity, and on the verge of saying something foolish, when I noticed he was blushing. Immediately, I assumed that I opened the door in my underwear and did a quick check (at times I am too unselfconscious for my own good). My tee shirt and shorts were intact, unstained and right-side out.
Still blushing and avoiding eye contact, the repairman left to spend the next two hours tracking down and repairing the problem--a broken line caused by construction behind us. Before I settled down to watch a taped marathon of Mummy Detectives, I checked myself in the bathroom mirror. No crusty dangling boogers or unnoticed enormous pimples. I certainly discounted the notion that the repairman was overcome by my stunning beauty, but I left the bathroom feeling slightly flattered.
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