I'M READY AND I'M SQUEAKY CLEAN

My house phone has not rung in days.  Seriously.  Nobody calls me, and I'm not going to say that it's a terrible thing.  This afternoon the house is quiet, my youngest is away, and I've had a long, strange day of highs and lows.  I think I earned a bath.

I get the water ready while I'm doing other things, such as moving shelves and a bunch of stuff from the cellar landing so that my new hot water heater can be wheeled downstairs when it arrives next week.  By the time I am ready to take a bath (and the bath is ready for me), it's a little after six o'clock in the evening.

I bring the phone into the bathroom in case a call comes in from the gas company or someone else calls who needs to be dealt with immediately, but I forget to bring in my glasses to read the monitor in case a call actually comes through.  But, really.  Who would call now?  No one has called all day, and no one has called for days on end.

Of course, as soon as I get into the bath, the damn phone rings.  I pick it up because I cannot see who is calling.  Turns out it's a political robo-call.  I hang the phone up, finish my bath, and, just as I am considering staying in the tub a little longer, the phone rings again.  Out I go, wallowing in water, drenching the bathroom floor, and grabbing a towel before answering the phone.  I still cannot read the caller ID, so I pick it up. 

"Hello, this is So-and-so, and I'm calling about Shlockey-Jock who is running for state senate ... I mean state rep..."  DUDE!  You cannot even get your own candidate correct nor the office for which he/she is running. 

My response: "Do you have any idea what we are going through right now?" (Meaning this whole gas fiasco.)

"Oh, yes. I live in the affected area--"

"--Good, then you'll understand that I'm heating up water for a bath and don't have time for this."  CLICK.  No need to tell him I already bathed and am standing in a towel with dripping wet but exceptionally clean hair.

I throw on my quasi pajamas; it's 85 degrees at 6:30 p.m., so I change into yoga pants and a tank top.  This is when the phone rings yet again.  I have my glasses on now, so I see it's from Boston and it's not a number I recognize.  I pick up the phone and yell, "IF YOU CALL ME ONE MORE FRIGGING TIME, I WON'T EVEN VOTE IN THE GODDAMN ELECTION!"

As I'm hanging up the phone, I kind of hear a robo-voice, and I realize too late that it might be an update about my gas restoration.  Oh, well.  Too late.  I'm bathed, dressed, and ready to relax for the evening.  If it's something important, I am reasonably sure at this rate that whomever it is will call back again ... and again ... and again ... and, if I'm taking a bath, maybe they will call several times in a row just to aggravate me. 

It's all right: I'm ready and I'm squeaky clean.