Answering the door in a flash | PostIndependent.com
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Answering the door in a flash

“You did WHAT?” Marianne asked, laughing hysterically on the phone. “That has got to be one of the most embarrassing stories I’ve ever heard!”Me, too.”I know,” I agreed with my best friend. “And somewhere out there is a construction worker who is probably mentally scarred for life …”It had all started out innocently enough first thing in the morning.After getting husband-head off to work, I was on the phone chatting with my mom when there came a knock on the door. Looking at the clock and the early morning hour, I figured it was probably Marianne or one of my girlfriends stopping over for a cup of coffee.I was still in my favorite flannel leopard-print nightshirt which, because of so much wear, was missing several buttons in front. Ok, it’s missing all the buttons from the navel down. “Hold on, Mom, someone’s at the door,” I said, without looking through the curtain on the window to see who it was.The dogs, who get excited if a leaf blows through the front yard, were barking furiously and trying to lunge through the door.I flung it open with the phone in one hand and trying to contain the canines with the other.There stood a cute construction guy with sunglasses, a hard hat, a bright orange vest and his thumbs jammed in the front pockets of his Levis.”I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he apologized. “But we just wanted to let you know we’re working on the sewer line in this area and we’d like to ask you not to use the water or sewer tomorrow while we work in your alley.”Still trying to juggle the dog’s collar in one hand and the phone in the other, I calculated what that meant.”For how long?” I wanted to know. “I work at home. What am I supposed to do?””It’ll just be for one day from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m.,” he said with a smile. “We’re really sorry.””Well, so am I,” I said indignantly. “I suppose I just won’t eat or drink anything for the rest of the day.”The construction worker just stood there and kept smiling.”You have a nice day, ma’am,” he finally said with a grin as he tipped his hat and left.I slammed the door closed and then realized with horror what had just happened.I’d been standing there with both arms out balancing the phone and the dogs, while my nightshirt was open to my waist.Let’s just say it was a very Janet Jackson moment … only worse.”What’s going on?” my mother asked when I got back on the phone.”Believe me, you don’t want to know,” I said and quickly hung up.Beet red in the face, I called Marianne to tell her what had just occurred.”No WONDER he was smiling so much!” I agonized. “And I couldn’t see his eyes because he had sunglasses on!””Oh, I’m sure he’ll go back and tell the rest of the crew and there’ll probably be FOUR construction guys knocking on your door tomorrow,” she laughed.Next I called husband-head at work and relayed the story to him.”Great,” he sighed. “Now they’ll be working on the sewer all WEEK …”Then I called my office and shared my most-embarrassing-moment-ever story with them.”Way to go, Flash,” the office manager giggled. “That would only happen to you.”When I left the house several hours later for an appointment, I made sure to wear a baseball cap pulled down low and a pair of sunglasses as I skulked by the construction crew, hoping that my new friend wouldn’t recognize me.That afternoon, husband-head called.”Yeah, I was just wondering what time the next show is?” he said, trying to disguise his voice.Ha-ha. When husband-head came home that evening, he found me at the kitchen table with my sewing box.”What’re you doing, making your next costume?” he teased.I contemplated poking him with a push pin.”No, I’m sewing the buttons back on my nightshirt,” I retorted. “With my luck, the Mormon missionaries will knock on the door first thing tomorrow morning …”Heidi Rice is a Rifle correspondent for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her Web site at http://www.heidirice.com.Heidi Rice is a Rifle correspondent for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her Web site at http://www.heidirice.com.


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