I joke about how I work in my pajamas all the time, but actually it’s not a joke. I’m a sloth. Sorry. Also, I have very comfortable pajamas.
So this morning I sent the kids and Otto on their merry way, and sat down (in my jammies) to start working, and I was about a paragraph into my first project of the day when KABLAM! something, um, blew up outside. And everything in my house turned off! And the answering machine started clicking and beeping, which Otto tells me in device parlance means MY! BACKUP! BATTERIES! ARE! DYING!
I am not an electrical expert, or anything, but it seemed bad.
After calling Otto (because he promised to love, honor, and FIX EVERYTHING), I called the power company. And they said, “Ayup. Something happened over there. We’re not sure what, yet.” And given the GOBS OF CONFIDENCE that instilled in me, I immediately hopped in my car and drove to my nearest coffee shop.
Where I am now working. In my pajamas. In public! Except only sort of, because I am still in my car. Shhhhhh, do not tell.
I guess my doctor reads my blog, because after yesterday’s post she called me from wherever she is on vacation to apologize for “the mix-up.” She explained that mammograms are “fairly useless” in young women with dense breasts (so, um, why am I having them, then?) and MRIs are better at seeing things, but ultrasounds are best for determining WHAT they saw on the MRI. I guess. So while I am not exactly feeling warm and fuzzy, I did appreciate that she seemed embarrassed about the way the flow of information had gone and was taking the time to contact me, herself.
But what I ACTUALLY wanted to tell you about today was the magicians who came to my house yesterday.
Long ago and far away (last June) I moved over 1000 miles with a whole lot of STUFF, which I paid thousands of dollars to have a “professional” moving company relocate for me. They were “professional” in the sense that ALMOST all of my belongings arrived, and some of them weren’t even broken! However, they did manage to lose just a few little things, like the brackets that hold the mirror onto my dresser, and they also managed to scuff, ding or dirty about half of my furniture.
[Which is why Otto has been informed that there are now two options available to us: Either he drags my cold, lifeless corpse from the current house (because I will live there until I die), or we can move at some point, but we have to burn everything we own and start over. I’m sorry, I know that may seem extreme, but the choices are clear. (Choose wisely, grasshopper!)]
Anyway, if you are SUPER EXCELLENT at math, you will realize that I moved at the end of June and it has now been over FIVE MONTHS since that time, and you might assume that the moving company has already set things to rights, because perhaps you have never dealt with a service company who charges large piles of money. I filled out my paperwork as directed and then I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And then I started making phone calls, and OOPS! They’d LOST MY FILE! Sorry! And then they found (?) it, and then I waited, and FINALLY someone called me up and said “Hi, I’m from Suchandsuch Restoration Services, we’d like to come take a look at your damaged furniture.”
So this pair of nice people came to my house and walked around and fingered the scratches in the entertainment center and the scuffs on my dresser and clucked their tongues at my poor battered desk, which really looked like it had possibly fallen off the back of the truck in transit. They wrote a lot of stuff down and thanked me and left.
Well. Yesterday they came back to FIX everything!
I would like to suggest that in the future they wear little hats and pointy shoes, because these were not people, these were MAGICAL ELVES in disguise.
Do you know the scene in Toy Story II where the doll restorer guy takes out this ENORMOUS case of paints and brushes and tools and painstakingly restores Woody to his former glory? These people DID THAT TO MY HOUSE. They sanded and refinished and drew with teeny tiny expensive crayons to match the wood grain and they built new brackets to attach my mirror and they took apart half my desk and put it back together again so that it actually, you know, stood up STRAIGHT, and then they went to Home Depot and bought me some pretty new drawer pulls (since one of mine was destroyed by the movers) which were about ten times more expensive than the originals.
Everything they touched now looks better than new.
So please, understand that I am THRILLED, but I do have a couple of (minor) complaints.
First of all, they were supposed to come at 10:30 and showed up at 9:45. I was home so it wasn’t a big deal, but I was—you guessed it—still in my pajamas. (I ended up pointing them towards the desk and telling them “gimme 10 minutes” and they worked on that while I showered and got dressed.) I did feel a little weird showering while there were strangers in my house, but I would’ve felt weirder hanging out with them in my jammies. I think.
Secondly, the woman in this pair was very chatty. Now, I don’t mind chatty. Lord knows I’m a talker, myself. (I know, you are SHOCKED.) But apparently she can talk while she works, because her work involves sanding and painting and such. I, however, cannot hold a conversation and write at the same time. And so every time I would nod and smile and GO BACK TO MY COMPUTER AND LOOK LIKE I WAS CONCENTRATING REALLY HARD hoping that she would take the clue and stop talking. But she never did. And I didn’t want to be rude while she was making my stuff all pretty again. So I didn’t get very much done.
Also, she admired some pictures of the kids as she removed the photos from the entertainment center, then asked some fairly normal/nice questions about them (how old are they, etc.) which was fine, and then as I was once again trying to get back to work, she busts out with, “So, are you and your new husband going to have more kids?”
Maybe it’s a little leftover indignation from the infertility days, but honestly, I think asking someone about their procreation plans is akin to asking them their favorite sexual position. In other words, isn’t that a pretty personal and inappropriate question?
I tried to laugh it off, and gave her my standard answer (the factory’s closed and we’re delighted with the two we have), but I was still sort of annoyed.
Then again, that may be what I get for answering the door in my pajamas. Maybe that just screams, “We’re pals now! Ask me anything!”
Perhaps I should start getting dressed a little earlier in the day.
I guess I should drive home and see if the power’s back. And then maybe I’ll take a shower and put some clothes on.