So a few months ago there were a good few weeks where Tom and I were just sick of cooking--so like anyone else in that situation we got takeout (from the place almost directly across the street). The same guy delivered to our house about four times in a relatively short span of time (I'm not telling you how short, but hey, you know you get takeout too!). The first time he came I was wearing yoga pants and raccoon eyes (you know when your eyeliner is still smudged from the day before and you didn't get ready yet because it's only noon on a Saturday and you didn't feel like it?) The second time adorned yoga pants (seeing a pattern?), a huge messy bun, and Carter's lunch on my shirt.
The third time...you get it. None of those were my finest hours. This is how it went until the fourth time. Finally, the fifth time came around and it just so happened that Carter had a doctor's appointment that morning so I had gotten all ready (you know, actually put on real clothes, washed my hair and added some makeup). The doctor's is one place I refuse to be a slob. But I digress. So the pizza guy got there and I answered the door like any other time, but this time he decided to make conversation:
*From the toys constantly strewn about the floor, it was obvious to anyone at the door that a baby inhabited the place.
Pizza Guy: Are you baby-sitting?
Pizza Guy: Oh, just visiting your sister?
Me: (totally confused so I just said) ...Yeah... (awkward pause)
Pizza Guy: I thought so. I've never seen you here before. (confirmation that he thought I was a different person entirely)
Me: Yup. *shuts door*
I couldn't decide whether to laugh hysterically or to be offended, so I went with the former. Laughing is way more fun. I immediately called Tom and let him know that he is apparently married to two face (you know, the lady from Seinfeld who Jerry dates and who looks like death in the tunnel?)
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