It was bound to happen. The odds were stacked against me.

You cannot have carpenters arriving at 7 am every day for months on end, live in an open concept house that only has two doors hung, sleep naked and not experience an embarrassing encounter. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And this morning, it did--most flagrantly with mortification in spades.

(NOTE: I am hiding out upstairs as I write this?I have hours of work to do downstairs, but I just need some time to pass first).

How it all went down:

T: (calling up the stairs to me where I?m still lounging in bed). Guys are here! Coffee?s ready.

Me: I?m getting up.

Get up, realize I have no robe or clothes in the bedroom with me so carefully peek around the door to see that they are not downstairs and are probably over by the garage WHERE THEY ALWAYS PARK (this detail is quite important). Dash over to my closet, step in and close the door behind me. Breathe a sigh of relief. Now relaxed, I grab my favorite pale pink Anne Fontaine* tank top and pull it on, as I look on the glory of the sunlight on the red, yellow, orange and green leaves outside my window. What a beautiful day. Then, as I reach down for my cargo pants, I see the carpenter?s truck where it is parked DIRECTLY ACROSS from my window (where they NEVER EVER PARK) with both carpenters facing directly at me.

I drop to the floor, half-naked.

Me: FUCK! FUHHHHHHHHHHCK.

T: (running up the stairs) Oh my god. Are you okay? Did you break your foot?

Me: FUCK! FUHHHHHHHHHHCK.

T: What the hell? Are you okay?

I point to the window. I point to the truck. I explain how I pulled on the stretchy, tight tank top FACING THE WINDOW.

T: (laughing as he goes back down stairs) Well, guess I don?t have to worry about a bonus this week.

Me: FUCK! FUHHHHHHHHHHCK.

*best article of clothing ever invented. I LIVE in these?honest-to-god. Black, white, occasionally pink?although I think the pink has been ruined for life.

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