An Open Letter to the Bug Guy . . . .

If you say you're going to show up at my house between 12 and 2, please do so. 

I went directly from my run at the Y to run several errands--still dressed in sweaty running clothes with a hoodie zipped up over them to make me look somewhat presentable, even though it was 90 degrees outside  Women shopping in workout clothes is a pet peeve of mine, but I did it anyway because I had so much to do and not enough time to do it. 

Then, I waited.  And waited.  Don't get me wrong . . . I didn't sit on the couch and do nothing.  But I waited.  I watched the clock.  I was stared down by a dog who didn't understand why we couldn't go for a walk. 

2:00 came and went.
3:00 came and went.
And yes, 4:00 came and went.

I had long ago given up on him showing up, but just for kicks called the office.  Apparently there was some kind of mix up with the work tickets. 

It's not a big deal . . . really.     It's not like my house is infested (THANK GOODNESS!!).  But you called.  You confirmed that I would be home.    And I was.

Where were you? 

Passive aggressive rant completed.