Real Housewives of Not New Jersey

The smell of her own BO put Shirley in a bad mood for the rest of the time she waited for the Roto-Rooter man to arrive.

Once again, I had a repairman come to my door after 1 in the afternoon and find me still not showered, with stringy hair, wearing clothes that look like they came out of the Goodwill dumpster, and my old glasses. If anyone is keeping track, I don’t really look like that. Not by choice anyway.

I would have loved nothing better than to get a shower and get dressed, even put on a little lipstick and blush for the guy, but because I wasn’t sure when he was going to arrive, I didn’t dare go beyond listening distance from the front door.

I don’t know if the Real Housewives of New Jersey ever lose their cable or need their gas ranges fixed or run out of freon in their air conditioners, but I know that the Real Housewives of Real Life do, and it’s a challenge to get a repairman to come to your house and get a shower in the same 24-hour period.

They never tell you when they’re coming. If forced to give a window, they’ll say sometime between 5 a.m. and 11 p.m., the legal limits of allowing strangers into your home for money without being charged with soliciting a prostitute.

I’ve never had a repairman come to my house very early in the morning, but you can bet if I took a chance and got in the shower, that would be the day the repairman was motivated to get all of his calls done early, so he could catch the Lifetime afternoon movie with the missus.

I’ve developed bladder pre-infections from not going to the bathroom, for fear that the sound of the flush will drown out the doorbell and I’ll miss it. Same with the shower. I’m sure that the minute I step into the deafening SHSHSHSHS of water, the repairman will skulk up to the door, ring the bell softly once and then coast away in his truck.

And forget about drying my hair.

Looking good is small consolation when I have a bunch of broken stuff in my house and a “Sorry I missed you” note stuck to my door. I’ve made my choice.

I feel sorry for repairmen, especially if they thought they were going to meet hot housewives as part of their job. And maybe I’m the only one in this predicament. I suppose there are some women who look great when they roll out of bed in the morning, and there may be some overachievers who will get up before dawn to put on makeup, clothes that fit, and even contact lenses before a repairman can ring their bell.

I’m not one of them. But, hey, repairmen? Come anyway, alright? I really do need the cable.

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