This morning I had every intention of having my breakfast, and getting ready for the day at a reasonable time. Then I got chatting online to my friend who was on maternity leave. By the time we had discussed babies, conception, cooking mince, and her cat Hammond, the minutes had slipped into the good part of an hour. I was just about to sift into the shower, when a little yellow car pulls into the driveway.
Holy cows in India, I had completely forgotten that the landlord had arranged for an insulation person to come and check out how warm and energy efficient our flat was. A young guy knocks on the door.
“Sorry I forgot you were coming, and I’m still in my pyjamas.” I stated the obvious as I stood in my candy-striped sleepwear and a dressing gown that looked like it had been fashioned from the hide of Cookie Monster.
“I’m here to check the insulation in the ceiling and under the floor,” he said as I tried not to crack up at the situation.
As soon as I got a moment, I text my flatmate and went to check how awesome I looked in the bathroom mirror. Sleep was encrusted in my eyes and my hair was defying gravity. Yep, so I did look pretty awesome.
I should’ve learnt from last time. At my last place of residence I had multiple people coming around to investigate the insulation with their clipboards and ladders. The one day that I slept in, I answered the door with a mouth full of cereal, to a young and attractive man with a clipboard and measuring tape.
“Sorry, I slept in and I’m eating breakfast.” Once again, stating the obvious is nearly as charming as my morning hair-do and dried drool on my chin.
So in both of these situations, I try to cover up the fact I look like one of Michael Jackson’s zombie dancer’s in Thriller, by delivering a ‘No shit Sherlock’ statement about the weather. Have you ever noticed that when you make conversation with someone you don’t know it’s usually about the weather? Maybe it’s because it’s something you really can’t disagree about. A rainy day is a rainy day.
By the time he had finished climbing in and out of the ceiling, we’d found that we had something in common. The same home town syndrome… And I mean town. Where I grew up is not a big place by any means. And then the fact that he knows my brother and now he knows me in my pyjamas. The word fantastic is delivered with an undoubted amount of enthusiastic sarcasm.
As I say goodbye to the tradesman, I say hello to the shower. Many lessons were learned this morning. Don’t forget your in-home appointments, have a shower as soon as you wake up, and never answer the door in your pyjamas.