Wow. An entry! And one that's not related to wedding planning, even!
Friday morning: Doorbell. Gnomes (contractors, in case you're new or have forgotten my name for them). I say, "I didn't know you were coming today." Gnome-in-charge says, "I know that. We need to get in to install that fan in the upstairs bath." He had tried to call my mother. My mother, I explained, was in the hospital recovering from surgery (something she left in voice mails as we tried to contact him to tell him to hold off....getting angry....stopping....)
Now, mind you, it's been a while since the "next week" they were supposed to have returned. I'm sick of this. So sick, in fact, that I have come to fully appreciate the concept of releasing my princess status and learning to do some of this stuff myself. Spackle? Imagine that taking less than a week. No damage to irreplaceable vintage furniture? IMAGINE THAT! No stains on the carpet from a pressure washer being *dragged through the house*....I'll stop.
(Breathing.)
Okay. I started coughing a little more than I actually was, if you get my drift. Fearing H1N1, he and his assistant *donned masks* and came in to take a quick measurement. Then, El Capitan Gnome said he needed my phone number.
He had my phone number. My mother had given him my phone number so he could *let me know* when he would be coming and going.
Showing up unannounced isn't cool - the key he's been given was handed over with the understanding that I would know when he would be showing up. I'm going to set the danged alarm to teach him a lesson when I leave to run errands today - if you are working on something in *my* home, I need to know when I can expect you.
I'm going to stop before I chuck my coffee cup across the room.
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