So I got home today from running errands, weekly hospital visit, borrowing a vacuum (not one but TWO blew up on me on Sunday). Anywho, normal errand sort of day. Get home, my jeans are wet, so I take them off to dry. Before I can get dressed in comfy loungey-type pants the phone rings. So I am sitting in my den chair, crosslegged on the phone. Hang up the phone, and before you know it there is someone ringing my doorbell. Nobody ever rings my doorbell. If you know me, you either have a key, call, or come straight to the back door.
It was my lovely next door neighbor who speaks about eight words of English–and “Hello, Kelly!” are two of them. He was very nicely bringing me a piece of (junk) mail that had been delivered to his home instead. Only I’m sitting in my chair, in plain side view of the front door, pantsless. No way am I gonna get up and walk over, but it’s hard to tell someone that doesn’t speak English to just leave it on the front doormat.