Waiting for Deliveries
These past few weeks, all I've done (or at least that's how it feels) is sit around and wait for deliveries and service calls.
"The plumber will be there between 8:00 and 12:00. Please make sure someone over the age of 18 is home at that time."
"You can expect the package between 2:00 and 6:00. Someone must be home to accept delivery."
Like I have nothing better to do. That's productive use of my time. Sit around and wait for a delivery that may or may not show up during a set time. And if it doesn't show up during that four or eight or twelve hour window, it's not like I have much recourse. I do want them to fix the phone or install the microwave or bring me my new Cannondale.
And to add insult to injury, rarely, if ever, does the delivery person turn out to be cute, although the cable guy one time was a total hottie and the weekend UPS guy is to die for and every so often the Fresh Direct...
But I digress.
Anyway, I've come up with the fail-safe solution. I've found the way to ensure that the delivery dude will show up at your door in a matter of moments. No, going to the bathroom won't cut it. You need to start having sex. Right away. And if you have no one to have sex with, you need to start having sex with yourself.
Within moments, that phone call from the doorman or that ring of the doorbell will happen. No doubt. And suddenly you'll be scrambling and scurrying and checking yourself in the mirror to make sure your hair isn't a total wreck and all the buttons on your shirt are properly aligned and your zipper is...
Yes, that's the way to make it happen.
Of course, after your much anticipated delivery arrives, you may be left with a quite the dilemma. Do you watch your new Samsung flat screen? Do you sit down in front of your G5 PowerMac? Or do you head back to the bedroom and finish what you started?
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
"The plumber will be there between 8:00 and 12:00. Please make sure someone over the age of 18 is home at that time."
"You can expect the package between 2:00 and 6:00. Someone must be home to accept delivery."
Like I have nothing better to do. That's productive use of my time. Sit around and wait for a delivery that may or may not show up during a set time. And if it doesn't show up during that four or eight or twelve hour window, it's not like I have much recourse. I do want them to fix the phone or install the microwave or bring me my new Cannondale.
And to add insult to injury, rarely, if ever, does the delivery person turn out to be cute, although the cable guy one time was a total hottie and the weekend UPS guy is to die for and every so often the Fresh Direct...
But I digress.
Anyway, I've come up with the fail-safe solution. I've found the way to ensure that the delivery dude will show up at your door in a matter of moments. No, going to the bathroom won't cut it. You need to start having sex. Right away. And if you have no one to have sex with, you need to start having sex with yourself.
Within moments, that phone call from the doorman or that ring of the doorbell will happen. No doubt. And suddenly you'll be scrambling and scurrying and checking yourself in the mirror to make sure your hair isn't a total wreck and all the buttons on your shirt are properly aligned and your zipper is...
Yes, that's the way to make it happen.
Of course, after your much anticipated delivery arrives, you may be left with a quite the dilemma. Do you watch your new Samsung flat screen? Do you sit down in front of your G5 PowerMac? Or do you head back to the bedroom and finish what you started?
Decisions, decisions, decisions.