The other day I saw the neighbor man just getting home from work, pull in the driveway. Right as I was heading to the basement to flip the switch of the fuse I had just blown. Me being a big girl had no issue flipping the blown fuse, flipping the fuse box door shut…oh…drats…did Mr.Sunday say not to shut the door?
And with a shrug of my shoulders I headed back up the stairs. Oh well it wouldn’t be a problem unless I blew another fuse.
Like I did the very moment I turned the blow dryer back on….
I trudge back down into the dungeon, otherwise known as my basement and the darn fuse box door just. Won’t. Open! I try pulling up it up, pulling it down, juggling it.
“Hey, I just shut the fuse box door.”
“Why did you do that? You can’t do that, it is really hard to get it back open, just jiggle it a little”
“Ha, been there, done that…I’ll figure it out…love ya…bye”
So I go back upstairs to look for a screw driver to pry it open. All I managed to come up with was a butter knife. After a few minutes of jamming the butter knife around in the fuse box I decide my pride wasn’t worth being electrocuted and I resigned myself to call the neighbor and ask for help.
“Hey, this is Sunday, your husband hasn’t gotten in to the shower yet has he?” (Remember I said I had just seen him come home from work?)
“Uh…NO…Uh…why…were you planning on joining him……………….?”
“Uhhhh…..NOOO….i was hoping he could come see if he could get my fuse box open for me, its stuck.”
“Oh, O.K. I’ll send him over”
“Thanks, Bye.”
I was puttering around in the kitchen waiting for the neighbor man, when I heard a knock on the door. I just called for him to “come in” and keep doing whatever it was I was doing.
“My wife said you needed me to come right over” he said.
I. Turn. Around. To. See. The neighbor man, in gym shoes, socks a t-shirt and a towel wrapped around his waist! Oh. My. God.
I laughed SOOO hard.
