It's Called a Calendar

This is why I could never live up here, in a small town in the mountains.

Three weeks ago, I called a chimney sweep to schedule a cleaning. Fine, yep, can do Thursday, first thing in the morning. Great.

Three days ago, I got a message. "Mrs. F? This is the chimney guy. I have you down for today and I just wanted to see if that was still OK?"

Um. Today--at the time, at least--is Tuesday. We scheduled for Thursday. That's important--Tuesday, we were painting the room with the fireplace. Fresh wet paint + chimney cleaning = very bad idea. I called him back. Oh...Thursday. Good. No problem. Done.

Yesterday, I got another message. "We'll see you Thursday afternoon!"

Well, no. Morning. First thing. See, that's why I called you weeks ago and in the off-season. Cuz I really want first thing in the morning. So I'm not stuck here with two cooped-up kids on a gorgeous day. Mor. Ning.

Oh. Well. See, the guy who was supposed to clean your chimney has to be out that morning. You can't do afternoon?




(this is me being silent)



Um. I could call someone else in, I guess. Do you want me to?

That'd be great. Thanks for all your help.

So here I sit. Thursday morning. DH and DS are out on the boat, and DD is stuck here with me, waiting. With about 50 percent confidence this is actually going to happen.

The joys of homeownership.

DH called me a bit ago from the boat. "Is the chimney guy there?"

No.

"Yeah, well. He'll probably come over next Thursday. Just like you told him."

Har dee har har. Plbthth.