Well, this is not going to look good...

So there are these two gentlemen who have been doing work around the neighborhood the last couple of weeks. They are out of work and doing handy-man jobs at various people's houses. Turns out my husband has been quietly observing their work to see if we might hire them to do some work in our yard.

Because over the course of the last eight years, we have had a lot of interesting folks show up at our door looking for work or for handouts, and the vast majority of them have either been altered or desperately in need of a fix when they asked for work. And there is no way I am testing out the limits of my homeowner's insurance policy when someone falls off my garage roof and I knowingly hired them when they were drunk or in withdrawal.

But Chris reports that these particular gentlemen are reliable, have done many jobs around the neighborhood, and they come back regularly for more work. So he made arrangements for them to come back this afternoon to do some winter yardwork.

There's only one problem. I sent Chris off to take the kids to Grandma's this afternoon. I picked Chris up from work, and I left my purse in the car with them because I had a bunch of car snacks for them in my bag.

So Chris has the keys to the garage on his belt, and he also has both of the family wallets. And these gentlemen are coming shortly to this work.

I feel bad enough about wasting their time. But I also love how this sounds:

"I'm sorry. My husband has taken the car. And I don't have any keys to the garage and I don't have any money."

I sound like an abused wife of a control-freak husband. Don't have my own house keys. Not allowed to have any money. No means of transportation. It sounds bad. It sounds classic.

In reality of course, Chris has the only key to the garage on his belt because his bike lives in the garage and and he needs it for commuting every day. And I am the one who left my purse in the car. And I am the one who asked the poor man to take off to drive. It reminds me of the time I tripped on the porch steps; the sweet man took care of me and ran the house for a MONTH while I recovered; and he got dirty looks wherever we went.

There's not a moral to this story. I just feel dumb and had to vent.