I Flashed the John Moore Termite Inspector Today
I heard our quirky new doorbell/camera/video camera ding-dong and went to a front window. An official truck from the Houston-based company was sitting at my front curb, and a man was at the door. Somehow, despite electronic calendar reminders, I’d forgotten our appointment.
Oh, and DH had forgotten that the house needed inspection annually after the pesky varmints tunneled into our living room from a weep hole. DH had blamed said insects on the charming shabby chic bench I’d placed in our yard. Months later we had found termites in it. Cuteness loses when it comes to a husband and wood-eating insects.
I flew down our stairs from my office, just as he looked up and got an eyeful. He looked away pretty quickly, but the damage was already done. At least they’re not revealing or slinky. The poor man would have had to boil his eyeballs.
After a repeated “Just a minute,” allowing me to throw on undies, yoga pants and a faded NaNoWriMo “winner” t-shirt and a chance to capture my dog, I let him in. Then he announced that he needed access to our downstairs plumbing. Jesus wept. About a third of our dinner dishes were still in the sink. Where he had to do his inspection thing. Then there were the master bath sink cabinets. Sweet tiny baby Jesus. What an embarrassment.
This is what happens when you work from home and are forgetful. And let things slide a bit.
Okay, I’m not Martha Stewart. I crammed as many dishes into the dishwasher as it would hold, and then collapsed after a day experiencing the new horror of Texas car registration. My mother used to ask me if it didn’t feel great to have a clean house (hint, hint, Beabe). I looked at her as if she were crazy since she’d had a maid service on and off since babyhood. As did my grandmother. The housecleaning urge is not strong in us, Obi Wan.
By the time the termite inspector put his tablet on the remains of mozzarella cheese on my kitchen island, I was eye-balling the Godiva chocolate coffee liquor. By the time he walked out my front door, I’m sure he was thinking about a liquid lunch.
Oh my God, the poor dog is still in his kennel! Bye for now from the land of working at home and frightening home inspectors.