At 7:30 this morning, construction workers showed up at our next-door neighbor's house. It seems that something is wrong with his roof. But, being in century-old townhouses, it basically sounds like they're HAMMERING ON MY MIND. Ahem.
Seriously, I keep thinking, "HOW did those guys get into MY HOUSE?" And then I run to check the basement or attic to yell at them, and then when they [obviously] aren't there I'm all, "Ceej, you are DUMB."
The work is pretty intense. Our neighbor's house isn't even visible under the blue tarps, and there are city-issued notices on the window that overlooks our porch.
Seeing as we have several pieces of bedroom furniture to dispose of, I figured maybe I'd go outside and maybe mooch a little to get the roofer guys to just take the stuff with them. Maybe via some hair twirling or lemonade-and-eyelash-batting combination.
However, when I brought up this idea to The Foliage, he said, "...no flirting with contractors. Not for that." And I couldn't get him to budge.
I'm just going to extrapolate this to mean that he doesn't appreciate my very unique and wonderful talents. Jerk.