Jane recently got the news from her real estate agent that her house is officially under contract.  SOLD is just around the corner.

Problem.

The closing date was moved from September 30th to some time next week.

Yes, I said NEXT WEEK. This means that Jane and I sprung into action and have been busy… very, very busy… sorting, organizing, cleaning and all the stuff that goes along with sorting, organizing and cleaning STUFF from a home.  Jane’s estranged husband is out of town for two weeks, so it’s just been Janie and me on what have turned out to be the hottest days of the summer.  OK, yesterday wasn’t all that hot, but still…

Anyway, when we couldn’t sort through one more cabinet or closet or pack one more box, we decided to stop for the night.  Barry had stopped by with boxes and two more very welcomed hands, but we were so exhausted and starving that he suggested taking a break at a local restaurant for dinner.

I love that guy.  And he even took off a couple of minutes earlier than Janie and me to get a good seat and order me a beer.  Did I say that I love that guy?

Jane and I finished what we were doing, locked the doors and headed out with a couple more trash bags… and noticed that her across-the-street neighbor was heading across the street.  Go figure.

This man is a gentleman.  He is a tall, perpetually impeccably dressed man with impeccable manners who gives a hearty handshake and kisses both cheeks in his greeting.  His voice is smooth and deep and accented.  He was with another much younger man and introduced Jane and me.  The younger man was gentlemanly, too, and they were both drinking something golden brown from James Bond-like snifters.  I felt very yucky and sweaty and hot and, well… crappy in my flip flops and shorts and tank top with my black bra straps very showing, with my hair all pulled back in a crappy little ponytail and bobby pins that didn’t even hold all my crappy looking hair.

I felt like I needed to say something in the line of an apology for all my crappiness, so I said, “I’m sorry for looking so crappy.”  Nice word in the company of two gentlemen, huh?

The across-the-street gentleman looked at me and said, ever so gentlemanly, “Oh, we understand.”

OH.  SO I DID LOOK LIKE CRAP AND THE GENTLEMAN WAS ACKNOWLEDGING IT BECAUSE GENTLEMEN DON’T LIE. HE UNDERSTOOD.

OK, then.  ‘Nuff said.  I looked like crap.

(Yes, we still went to dinner, but Janie and I had a pretty good laugh about all the crappiness on the way to meet Barry. But then again, why did Barry choose a secluded booth in the furthest and most remote corner of the restaurant?  Hmmm.)