This morning at the unholy hour of six-forty, the phone rang.
Cursing and stumbling, I answered the call.
It was our [soon to be] new plumber. The one we asked to come give us a bid on some work we're doing on the upstairs of our house. Big work. Messy work. Work that will ultimately result in very good things [eventually].
He was calling to let me know that he was five minutes out. As in, I will be at your front door in five minutes. No matter that you're still in bed, sporting the filth that is morning mouth, and you are not dressed.
I flew out of bed and scrambled to throw some clothes on. Opting to spend my time brushing my teeth in lieu of putting on a bra, I went for the multi-layered/here's hoping it's enough to hide the girls look. My tops felt a little twisted, weird, and out of place, but the doorbell rang, and I had no more time to worry about it.
Plumber came and went. Gave me just the news I was hoping to hear: Yes, what you're planning here will be fine. I can totally do that.
[Still waiting on the news I don't want to hear: The cost.]
But a few minutes later when I happened to walk by a mirror, I nearly died at the sight.
Apparently, as I was hurriedly dressing, I missed the sleeve hole on one of my layers, resulting in a tangled mess of shirts on my torso.
Aaaaaaand it was configured in such a way so that the only thing standing between the plumber and one of my bosoms was a thin layer of cotton.
A very see-through layer of cotton.
[Apparently, I have the subconscious desire to show off my bits and pieces. Remember the horror?]
Do you think it will be enough to at least get us a discount on the plumbing?