Unbeknownst to me, an unnecessary number of furnace men were scheduled to show up at my house today, at the crack of dawn.
I was not informed. I was not prepared. Let the reader understand.
But of course, my two-year-old is always ready for things like this, and happily met them at the door with no pants on, singing at the top of his lungs, “I AM DA WAY, DA TWOOF, AND DA WIFE! I AM DA WAY, DA TWOOF AND DA WIFE!"
That’s zero pants, for the record, and singing the gospel of Jesus Christ, devoid of the full use of the entire alphabet at his disposal to all those who are perishing.
They asked me if i was the tenant. And being the disheveled, mess of a person i generally am at o-dark-thirty in the morning, and having just been awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep, who could blame them? Real, responsible, normal, home-owning adults do not sleep. I know this.
Whilst explaining that i was, in fact, THE actual Mrs. Larson, in the flesh, and not a homeless 10-year-old squatter who had requested their services, said two-year-old pooped on the floor. Just for kicks.
Then the 25 early-rising furnace men shut off the gas, and left.