The pest control guy was supposed to come today between one and three o'clock. Plenty of time to get some school done in the morning before picking up around the house in preparation for someone to be in every room of it. I was in mid-sentence, reading our current book while the kids ate breakfast, when the guy called. He asked if he could head over right then, which was three hours before his earliest scheduled arrival. I said yes, put the book down, threw on some pants, and started scurrying around, barking orders like a drill sergeant. There was a huge pile of laundry in the middle of the floor, so I was standing there with an armload of underwear, yelling, "Pick up everything off the floors and put your dishes in the dishwasher! Don't leave food out; we don't want the bug guy to look at our filth pit and think 'No wonder these slobs have bugs!'...."
Sarah interrupted with, "Um..Mom? He's on the porch and the door is open, so he already knows we're buggy people." I turned around (still clutching the family's underwear), and sure enough, there he was at the front door, smiling. He must have called me from my very own driveway.
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