he shouldn't see london, he shouldn't see france...

in the event a repairman is scheduled to come to your home (sometime between 1 and 4 p.m. never before. more often than not later), let me dispense a bit of advice to you to make the man's task at your home more productive.

always pick up your panties from your bedroom floor.

be aware that a repairman may or may not wish to go into your bedroom to check the screens in your window. you won't be expecting it, of course. the windows in question are in the living room. his request to go into your bedroom will be met silently at first, for about a second, as you wonder why.

and while you're thinking what the right answer is, you'll be conducting a mental inventory of your bedroom.

and it will hit you. the panties. tossed on the floor like a pink and purple polka dot amoeba.

maybe they're not alone. maybe there are other pairs with them. the pink ones. the pale orange ones. the kicky buttery yellow pair. a couple of black pairs from when you felt "angsty."

you're not lazy. you're just trying to prove a point. yours aren't the only arms that can carry clothes down to the laundry room. but, as the pile has grown, apparently so has your failed experiment.

so let me remind you. your bedroom floor is not a laundry hamper. it is not a place where five pairs of panties should just get carelessly tossed aside until someone (but likely you) feels like picking them up and hauling them to the washing machine.

if possible, always try to get upstairs before the repairman. trip him on the stairs, yank at his back pocket. compliment his "texas...where everything is bigger" sweatshirt and how it carries the musky scent of sweaty man and marlboro lights like a delightful testosterone bouquet.

whatever you must do, do it.

you lead the calvary. there is no exceptions to this.

do not chuckle if he makes a little joke about the state of your bedroom and said laundry. it likely won't be a funny joke, and honestly there's little need to encourage him away from the task at hand.

"will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly;"'tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you may spy. the way into my parlor is up a winding stair, and i have many curious things to show when you are there." is not a clever retort to his funny remarks. it will only make him glance your way with a look that silently affirms your despair at his unexpected boudoir visit.

glance at the bureau mirror and smirk at yourself for thinking to use "boudoir," maybe give yourself a little thumbs up move, but do not congratulate yourself on using a poem as your comeback.

let me repeat that. do not quote old poetry.

be grateful the dolphin had swam away earlier that day. when he's not looking, pat yourself on the back for at least having the smarts to put away the grown up toys. then work diligently at trying to get the panties kicked under a pile of less obvious work clothes and sensible black slacks (slacks? do people even use that word anymore?!).

curse the fact that you're wearing eastland slip-ons and the clunky soles make this task a virtual impossibility. while he leans out the window to yell at his buddy waiting outside, do not stop to think "is he winking at him? is that the universal sign for 'panties on the floor! yahoo!'"

no. while he's distracted, reach down, silently and swiftly, and lift less obvious pieces of clothing up, grab what you can that you wish to hide and jam, jam, jam them out of sight.

smile nonchalantly, while halfway in an upright position and with a pair of flowery panties in your right hand, when the repairman turns around to tell you the bedroom windows are just fine. you knew they were, of course, but by now, you're close to forgetting why you have this man in your home in the first place.

until he asks to return to your living room. where he (and no panties - at least for a very long time. sigh. make a mental note to check on weekend childcare possibilities) were meant to be.

i share this advice with you as a girl in the know. heed my warnings now lest you fall victim to the cable repair man later...