Our gardener comes on Tuesday mornings. You read that right, we have a gardener. How sickeningly posh, right? He maintains the camouflage around our balconies. I wish he'd maintain our herbs, too. Maybe I should sneak them into the balcony planters. Anyway, he comes on Tuesday mornings, and I always forget until about a half hour before he arrives. I feel really weird about other people doing work that I feel like I should be doing, especially when I'm not doing anything myself. When he comes, I try to look really busy, too. I'll let him in the house with a harried look and a broom in my hand, and slowly, slowly sweep the kitchen floor while he's working. As soon as he leaves, I drop the act, and crawl back to the couch to sleep for a while longer.
Today, though, I didn't even bother with the charade. I answered the door in my pjs, hauled back to the couch, and ate a yogurt in front of the t.v. while he slaved away on the balcony. When he was done, he told me he could let himself out, and I didn't need to get up. I got up, to keep up the appearance of politeness, and to throw away my yogurt, and to pick up a nectarine, and then I went back to the couch.
One of the elite.