I spend a lot of my time worrying about Ms. P and her sleeping habits, or lack thereof.
She is not a great sleeper, and I am a big believer in the power of napping, so I can get a little anxious at times when she hasn't slept enough. Because when she doesn't, it is a big can of fussy that gets opened up on everyone for the rest of the day.
So at one point I wanted to try and put her to sleep, but the gardener across the street was making a lot of noise, and it was too hot to close the window.
I kept hovering around the window, trying to gauge when he would be finished. I kept muttering rude things under my breath, mostly for him to hurry up already.
Hubba-hubba heard me and said, "Why are you telling that poor one-armed gardener to hurry up? He's going as fast as he can!"
And because Hubba-hubba is often quite the bullshitter, I told him to shut up, that there was NO SUCH THING as a one-armed gardener.
"Oh yeah," he said, "Just go ahead and look a little closer, will you?"
"You lie like a rug," I retorted.
Just then, the gardener started loading his equipment into his truck.
And what did I see?
An empty sleeve where his left arm should have been.
Surely, I am going to hell.