The cable guy is here. Naturally, he shows up right on time to find an unshowered customer whispering to him (doesn’t sound at all creepy, does it?) because I’m the only one awake in the house.
I set my alarm so I could jump in a quick shower before the impending “I’m on my way” call somewhere between 8 and 9 a.m. Then I stepped into the kitchen. You know how, when you’re expecting guests, you find 17 things that have to be put away/cleaned/reupholstered before they get to the door in 15 minutes? Well, then you know how my morning went.
I found myself scrubbing counters, lighting a candle to hide some smell I couldn’t identify, feeding the animals, cleaning the floor from slobber and food bits after feeding the animals – you know, the typical Saturday morning I had hoped to never have.
He called at 7:58 and was here by 8. Really?? What cable guy does that? This basically gave me time to put on a bra – everything else was the result of a lick and a promise (to never, ever have my photo taken in this state). And yes, I still have Christmas pajama bottoms on, and a too-well-worn t-shirt.
As he stood in the living room checking the line from the modem a little while ago I tried to discreetly pick up chunks of dog hair curled around every piece of furniture, at the same time trying to convince an 80-pound retriever not to lick the nice man to death.
Right now I am sitting in the living room sipping my coffee while he investigates the inside lines. In my basement. My scary, permanent-construction-zone/obstacle-course basement. I didn’t have time to sheetrock and paint – or move - before he got here, so there you have it.
Why couldn’t it have been an outside line so he didn’t have to come into the house? Why didn’t I set my alarm earlier? Why couldn’t I be like Claire in Modern Family who whipped on something sexy just before the firefighters came into the house when Phil was in pain? Besides the fact that I don't have anything remotely sexy that fits me, I mean.
I know people who wouldn’t be caught dead like this when someone walks in the door – or ever. They are showered and dressed before breakfast no matter what day, and I applaud them for their dedication and determination to never look unkept.
I, however, do not roll like that. If you stay in my house (once I uncover the bed in the spare room) you are likely to encounter me in all my before-shower splendor enjoying a mug (not a cup – a mug) of java and reading or writing at the kitchen table or sofa. On warm summer days I will be planted in a chair in the backyard, taking in the first sun of the day. You could pour yourself a mug and join me, but please don’t expect me to look like hostess material.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s not unimportant to me to make a decent presentation. In a way I guess the morning thing is a bit of a rebellion. Five days a week I get up between 5 and 5:30, shower, eat, dress and head to an office for 8 hours. By the time Saturday morning comes around nothing about my weekend says rush/prepare/be presentable until after breakfast.
My attire does not affect my ability to make guests feel welcome or to make a yummy breakfast for whoever is around. Anyone who stays here should probably not expect me to greet them in a dazzling morning ensemble and perfectly coiffed hair. But they can expect to relax and savor the sights and sounds of an early Maine morning.
As long as they understand those sights might include Christmas pajama bottoms.