We have a very handsome exterminator. I will call him, Daniel, because that’s his name. Whenever he goes to your house, you’re the envy of the neighborhood. I should mention that it is perfectly acceptable to sexually harass Daniel BEHIND his back. I repeat, acceptable AND harmless, as long as he never knows.
I had just lathered my hair when Brantley burst into the bathroom.
“On a Saturday? Dang it,” I told him. “I won’t be out in time. Did he ask about me?”
“Did he say, “Hey, how’s your wife?” No, he didn’t, but he IS looking good. His beard has come in nice and full, too.”
“Tell him I said, hey. Then, come back and tell me what he said.”
“No. I’m not doing that.”
“Ok, then throw something on the floor so he has to bend over and pick it up. You can do it up to three times without it being suspicious.”
“I’m leaving now. You’re freaking me out.”
By the time I was out of the shower, Daniel the bug man had come and gone. He had, however, been there long enough to secure our house of pests with his big, strong arms. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we have another ant problem this summer. As long as Brantley doesn’t catch me painting the house with honey, I’ll be just fine.