The window cleaner man is really pushing his luck.
Yesterday, after an hour of having unspeakable things done to my teeth (and was greeted with the even happier news that I need more unspeakable things done in three weeks AND will be up for a crown if I keep clenching - well of course I clench - I have small children). Anyway, I digress.
So I have unspeakable things done to my teeth, arrive home expecting spotless windows but the smears, mildew and fingerprints are all still firmly adhered to the glass.
Apparently the Window Cleaner Man had a disaster. It'd better have been an 'I got entangled in powerlines' type disaster. Hmm.
Now, upon his promise that he'd arrive today between 1 and 2pm, I am peering out the window like a demented meercat and counting the minutes. Got the kids down for an early nap, have swept driveway (so they don't walk dirt into the house - like its going to make a difference!), eaten lunch, done the washing up.
Where is he.
I want my windows clean.
Okay, so Mr Window Cleaner turned up. In a daggy old car, 45 minutes late. Knocks on the door which I grumpily stomp to answer, whining child attached to hip and dog in hot pursuit.
"Allo, I yam Pierre," he husks.
"ELLA," I screech at the dog as she makes a bolt for freedom, stop her with my foot, dump child, grab dog.
"You h'are verry busy, I sink?' he says with a perfect smile, perfect teeth, perfect French accent, perfectly tanned with perfect sandy coloured hair...
"Wibble," I say. Then, to my eternal mortification I blush scarlet. Yes, she who writes salacious lurve scenes, has two children and if she hasn't don't it all then she's certainly seen it all, is utterly thrown by an unexpectedly hunky window-cleaning guy. Note he is now a guy (say mid-20s).
I've had a lovely afternoon. Pierre kept the kids occupied (they followed him around supervising window-cleaning) and I happily made cups of tea and drinks of water for him and tried to think up more scintillating conversation than Wibble. Mmmmm.
I can feel a M&B developing out of all this!