Tuesday, August 28, 2012

two turn tables and a microphone

Two very important events have taken place this morning and it is not yet 10:00. Notice that I did not write "it is not yet 10:00 a.m." because I have already stated that it is morning and to write a.m. as well would be redundant. And it is this attention to detail that makes my copy editing duties worth the same hourly rate as a 12-year-old babysitter.

I have not yet had to close up the house. I have not had to shut the doors and windows, close the shutters against the sun, and blast our pretend air conditioning (in which I turn it on and nothing happens so we turn on all the fans and complain about how hot and sweaty we are). The house is still on that side of bearable. Now of course this means we are subject to the noise of the chainsaws used by the tree cutter downers right outside our apartment, but it makes me think fondly of The Chainsaw Massacre and how it was cold enough in that movie that one could comfortably wear another person's skin.

And Leonardo the plumber has at long last returned from the black hole of August! I used my iTranslate app to write out the things that were not working: No hot water in the kitchen; no shower head in the bathroom (i didn't point fingers by reminding him that this is because he took one shower head to fix the other one and then never replaced it); a hot water heater that doesn't turn on and/or turns on, only to turn off at will. Leonardo looked at the list. He banged on the hot water heater with his hand. (That is exactly the technique I use! Have I mentioned I come from a long line of plumbers? Obviously I have the plumber gene.) He mimed taking on a telephone and left. I took this to mean he would be getting parts and would call us when they were in. Or maybe he was telling me how much he loved the song, "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen and that I should look up his YouTube parody.

And this evening, another important event will be taking place: We are going to be interviewing  a possible weekly cleaning person. You may be thinking, I'm sorry, but didn't you move into an apartment that is a quarter of the size of the house you had lived in? Why in the world would you need a cleaning person? And to that I say: Well, Judgy McJudge, we need a cleaning person because everyone else has one.

Because I both have a mom and I am a mom,  I know that the next argument is: Well if everyone else was going to jump off a cliff, would you jump too? And the answer to that is yes. Yes, I would if it meant that waiting at the bottom there was a person who would clean my house.

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