I don’t exactly get a running start in the morning.
I like to wake slowly, sip some coffee, check my e-mail.
Not get dressed.
I’m doing that, this morning, when I hear a gentle knock on the front door.
On the porch is a bald, bespectacled man, holding something in his left hand.
I need to answer the door. I know that.
But I’m wearing this:
And I’ve got a bit of this going on:
He looks at me, but he’s trying not to look at me.
“Hi is this Owen’s house these parts didn’t fit in the mail slot ok bye then.” He spits out what he has to say and runs back to his truck.
And that, dear readers, is how I came to meet one of my husband’s most important clients for the first time.
(Nightshirt picture from here.)