I just got finished reading 70 blog posts. That’s right. Seventy. That’s how many I’ve missed since Saturday, when I couldn’t have read a street sign, much less a blog post, for getting ready for Tater Tot’s party. It’s also the day our internet connection dropped dead.
Our internet people finally came Tuesday. I explained that Tater Daddy had already crawled around under the house and marked the place on the cable where the problem was. He just couldn’t fix it himself. Charles, the internet man, wandered around the backyard for a few minutes, came back in and said that the problem wasn’t back there. I repeated the whole thing about the cables running under the house and even showed him the hole in the floor. Then I pointed to a spot on the floor and said, “My husband said to tell you that you’ll find the problem spot right about here.” Charles went back outside, stood there for a minute or two, and returned to tell me that the whole cable was damaged and that he’d have to put in an order for someone to come out at a later time to run a new one.
Charles is no fool. He didn’t want to crawl around under the house.
Tater Daddy came home and he was…er…kind of put out. After supper, he went to Lowe’s, bought what we needed and tried again. It took the better part of the night and two trips under the house, but we are now connected to the outside world again.
According to my husband, though, Charles is an idiot.
In other news, we’ve been without a dishwasher since I mentioned it to you a couple of weeks ago, but I finally picked on out yesterday. It is supposed to be delivered and installed before 8:30 this morning. While I’ll be happy to have my new dishwasher, with its Jetclean II and ToughScrub powers, it should be illegal for deliveries to be made at 7:15, don’t you think?
I’ll be back in a day or so because I do have other stuff to blog about.
By the way, “I really loved the last haircut. I think I might like to go even a little shorter this time,” does not translate smoothly into hairdresser-speak. I know this because I spoke those very words yesterday when I got my hair cut. I left the salon not with a shorter version of the very cute and sassy hairdo I got four weeks ago, but with a short haircut resembling one Princess Di once sported. In the 80s.
I still love they guy who cuts my hair, and I should have been more clear about keeping the same general style and less enthusiastic and “going shorter!” Fortunately, my hair grows like a Chia Pet.
I have to go water my head now.