I don’t think randomness is a word, so I hyphenated. Oh, never mind, it is a word. Which is a compelling (yawn) way for me to begin this blog.
SO I got a visit from my home teachers last night. One is my neighbor. We’ll call him A.. A. is…well, A is hot is what he is. Daa-amn. Okay, maybe not that hot. But hot in an attentive, cute, attractive, neighborly, married way, hot. Yeah, he’s married. And he’s Mormon. So those are two strikes, although one is negotiable. The Mormon one, dummy). Sheesh. I really hope he isn’t reading this. If he is, then, ‘Hi, A.; thanks for offering to help me clean out my rain gutters. E hem. Ignore that other stuff, that’s just the ravings of a mad woman…’
I have no doubt that he will be pleasantly amused at this if he did read it because frankly, I look like the crazy, lonely spinster with too many cats every time he comes by. I’m usually in some sort of tragic ensemble consisting of a baggy t-shirt, no bra (attractive when you’re 20, not so much at almost 40), baggy pants that are either sweats or camouflage (tragic in every sense of the word on me), fuzzy slippers or my robe, and inevitably, my glasses are on. I look pretty much like this:
Frightening. I don’t actually own pink fuzzy slippers, but I might as well. And usually my hair is up in a ‘do’ clipped back with a hair clip. I’d show you a real picture of me, but it’s truly frightening…okay, maybe it doesn’t matter…
See? Not glamorous, not sexy…no; I look like a bloody UNsexy librarian is what I look like.
So that’s what A. has seen of me. Never mind that I clean up pretty nicely.
So last night I looked particularly hideous, and he and his companion S. were being led into my house by my son, who is 4 and doesn’t know not to let strangers in the house. I come walking out looking like Death because I had been ill all afternoon.
I think I saw S. take a noticeable step backwards when I came to the door. They asked me if there was anything I needed. “Uh besides a make-over? No. Nope, I’m good.” I didn’t actually say that. But I could have and they probably would have flipped on their phones to call Oprah if I had.
“Please Ms. Winfrey, she’s new to the neighborhood; she frightens the children
when she takes out her trash…”
A. is coming over to help me clean out my rain gutters Friday. I will at least shower and put my contacts in. But the hair might have to be in the ‘do’. He should know that I don’t look like a troll 24/7.
I like home teachers. Visiting teachers not so much; women just can’t pull off the fake act. Well, they CAN, and that’s what makes it so creepy. But men? Men are simple. Men say it like it is. A. and his companion S. ooze kindness and I know it’s genuine. And a single mom around here is going to need to make friends with the local priesthood quorum if she want anything heavy moved. And I may need help one day. Plus it’s nice to have the company, and I get to ogle A., so it’s a win-win all the way around; they get their home teaching done, I get eye candy and help with my rain gutters.
Maybe next month he can help me with my crabgrass or morning glory or something. Maybe I won’t wait a month. ‘Course his lovely wife will no doubt trust him because A. is a good guy and also, well, see pictures above (she has seen me as well.) Not that I’m planning anything. Just LOOKING. Sheesh. I am NOT trying to convince myself, either, so just pipe down.
Okay I didn’t want this whole post to be about my hot Mormon neighbor…let’s move on.
What was I saying?
OH. Okay, I was going to blog about…well jeez let’s talk about my old home teachers from my big house in Draper. They were cool–I could never remember their names. They would show up at the door and I would yell loudly, “Uh oh, the Mormons are here!” They would hear me outside and laugh. Then I would let them in and we’d stand at the door and chat. I told them about my books; they blushed. I offered them a bite of my apple once. They looked scared for only a moment before saying “We were told never to eat anything here.” Pretty damn funny, actually.
I love it when Mormons can just, you know, be chill. There are a lot of them out there that aren’t out to convert, but there to help, be chill and be friendly neighbors. A. and I discussed religion only once. He’s a TBM to be sure–a convert, too. I’m back on A. Sorry. Maybe it’s time to just move on to whatever I was going to talk about. Never mind. I’d better take out the garbage.