This One is for MM

For almost a year, MM has been bugging me to retell a story I told at a blogger bash. It is one of those stories that I didn't even think about posting on my blog because it is pretty commonplace behavior for me, I didn't think it was funny. However, several people have told me how funny they think the story is, so here it is.

In a previous post, I happened to mention that one of the things I would really like for Christmas would be carpet cleaning, but that it is weird to put "carpet cleaning" on your wish list. After I wrote that post, I got a nice email from Josh, a local guy who frequently comments on several blogs. In addition to having another full-time job, Josh said he runs his own carpet cleaning business and he would be able to clean my carpets at a pretty low price.

After a few emails back and forth (mostly me trying to explain how and why my carpets were so dirty and him assuring me (1) he's seen worse and (2) he can get it clean), I arranged to have him come out to my house to give me an estimate. In the email, I said that it would be best if he came out after 7:30 because both of the kids would be asleep in bed. He agreed.

As I was driving home that evening, it all of a sudden hit me. What the hell is my problem?? Let's look at this objectively, Ms. PH. You write a blog wherein you state that you live alone. A man you don't know emails you on your blog email (which is not my personal email and one I only use for blog stuff) and says he can "clean your carpets" for a "low price." Not only do you give this man your home phone number and address, you invite him over at night when the children will be asleep and tell him that you will be alone.

Yes, it is true. Despite all indications to the contrary, sometimes I can be very, very blond. It's like the textbook example of what to do if you want to get attacked in your own home by a crazy person.

So, I was in a semi-panic driving home. I called my best friend and explained the situation. She made me promise to keep my cell phone on my body at all times and call her as soon as he left. This sounded like a good plan, so I agreed. But then I started to think . . . what if he overpowers me and takes my cell phone? What if he forces his way into the front hall and knocks me out? Big fat good my cell phone is going to do me then and my best friend who lives in CHICAGO probably won't be able to help much either.

As I am putting the kids to bed, I'm frantically scanning my brain for options. (And, no . . . calling to cancel did not occur to me as one of my options. Either I really, really wanted to have my carpets cleaned or I'm just that blond. You decide.) The answer I come up with is "I need a weapon." The problem is . . . because I have two children under three in the house, most of the potential weapon-type instruments have been removed. I search the house for possibilities:

Gun? Nope. Never had one in my house and don't plan on it. It's not a political thing - it's a safety thing. Think about it . . . what are the odds that I would actually shoot an intruder instead of shooting myself?

Fire place poker? No. Hard to conceal if the guy turns out to be completely normal and harmless. I really didn't want him to think I thought he was a creep.

Bat? No. Same problem as the poker. Plus, the only one I had was my son's toy baby bat, which is covered with foam. Not so threatening to a serial killer.

Knife? Now that has some possibilities. I look at the knife rack and consider my options. Large knifes are out of the question since it would be really hard to hide one of those as well. And then I have the answer. A Steak Knife!! Perfect! Sharp enough to leave a mark or two if I have to, threatening enough to scare a half-assed creep away from me long enough for me to make a break for it, but small enough to stick in my pocket.

I took a steak knife out of the drawer and stuck it in my pocket and waited for Josh to arrive. A couple of times I forgot I had a steak knife in my pocket and tried to sit down and got a nice little surprise in a very sensitive area. Thank god I have fairly quick reflexes.

Josh arrived right on time and looked completely normal. He was dressed in business-identified clothing and looked like the boy next door. As we were walking from the front door through the kitchen to the basement, I seriously thought about abandoning the knife. But then I thought . . . isn't that the first thing people always say about serial killers? "He was so nice . . . looked just like the boy next door. I can't believe he would do something like this."

I put my hand in my pocket to hold onto the knife. (As an aside, in addition to being difficult to sit with a steak knife in your pocket, it is also fairly difficult to walk normally down the stairs with a knife in your pocket.)

Josh surveyed my carpet and we chatted for a little bit. He really was a nice guy and very professional. He told some funny stories about his kids and his wife and assured me he could solve all of my soiled carpet problems. I followed him up the stairs and, as we passed through the kitchen, I slid the steak knife out of my pocket and onto the kitchen counter. I felt guilty after that for even thinking Josh was a serial killer.

Another reason I haven't posted this story is that I didn't want to hurt Josh's feelings by telling people I thought he might be a serial killer. After all, that was what I thought before I met him. Now I've met him, and met his kids and wife, and I can assure everyone in the blog world that he is a very, very nice guy who would never hurt a fly, much less a person. I want everyone to know that none of my craziness was caused by anything he did at all. I'm just that crazy and neurotic.

And, man . . . can he clean carpets! I seriously thought I was going to have to throw away the carpet in my basement because of the pet stains on it. Not after Josh was there. It looks (and smells) like new. Josh is wonderful . . . I'm the crazy one.

So, if you need your carpets cleaned, please send me an email and I will give you Josh's information. He's the best!



And, MM . . . are you happy now?