So here’s the scenario: 

It’s Thursday.  The weather is gorgeous–for several days I’ve been sneaking out midday doing intervals on my bike, just to take advantage of the warm, sunny early spring days.  But it’s about to change; rain and dropping temps are predicted.  Which means my next century, the NCBC spring rally on Sunday is going to be chilly.  Grrr. And then next week I’m planning to ride lots of miles–a bunch of 60 milers followed by the Sauratown 200k on Saturday.  So I’m painting like a madwoman, just days from being FINISHED.  I finally hired someone to do the master bath–it had wallpaper all the way up to the cathedral ceiling.  It would’ve taken me a month.  It took Armin and his buddy not-quite-two-days.  Meanwhile, I’ve done the ceiling in our bedroom, and am starting the walls, when I realize that there is a puddle under the toilet.  Hmm.  Wonder if Armin cracked something.  Call roto-rooter.

After hours of waiting (meaning I didn’t get to go to Henry’s, my favorite new incredible gelato place–they don’t seem to have a website, but it’s next door to the Panera by Inside Out Sports at the intersection of Cary Parkway and James Jackson Ave–check it out!), and multiple misleading phone calls promising imminent arrival, the roto-rooter guy showed up at 9:45 last night.  That’s, like, bedtime.  Mr. Helpful is very helpfully in his bathrobe, so I get to go downstairs, turn on lights, lead roto-rooter guy upstairs (shushing him not to awaken slumbering children), point out problem.  He sounds awfully nasal.

I’m taping the edges of the freshly painted (pale pink) ceiling in our bedroom, so that I can paint the walls (slightly stronger purple) first thing in the morning, and Mr. Helpful is on the bare mattress (the bed has been stripped and pulled into the middle of the nearly-furniture-free room so that I can paint) giving me the play-by-play of Grey’s Anatomy (the television, being An Important Item, is still plugged in, and I can hear, but not see, because I’m on a ladder taping).  Roto-rooter guy starts sneezing in our bathroom.  We look at each other–I mouth “I TOLD you he’s SICK!”  He sneezes and sneezes.  I give up on calling “bless you” after each one–too many.

At 10:45 (that’s PM!) he finishes.  He has now sneezed all over my bathroom, gone up and down my stairs and through my bedroom repeatedly, and opened and closed the front door at least four times.  When he comes back into the house with paperwork and HIS OWN PEN for someone to sign off, I go into a complete germ tailspin.  I never did go back into our bathroom last night.  Luckily we keep new toothbrushes, floss, etc. under the sink in the children’s bathroom.  I slept on the trundle in Delaney’s room (okay, that was planned anyway, because of the painting, but I certainly didn’t complain).

This morning I went into the  bathroom and used up an entire container of Clorox wipes.  All my painting stuff was in there–rollers, brushes–all the items I’m planning to hold in my hands all day!  I also threw away the old toothbrush and the plastic cup I drink out of, and I’m about to wash all the towels.

So I think I can go paint now without completely freaking out.  But I daresay my hands will be chapped from washing by the end of the day.  Mr. Helpful says I’m paranoid.  I’m okay with that.  I’d rather spend next week pedaling than sneezing.