{I think it’s time to post this again.}
{And P.S. There’s some funny happening over at SurferWife’s this weekend you might want to check.}
My husband is a tile and stone contractor whose work is so famously awesome he’s had amazing jobs for 20 years strictly by word of mouth. I mean, he’s good. We’re talkin’ San Diego Home of the Year stuff. Classy, reputable shizz. However, with the recent economic slump, he’s found it necessary to do a little advertising. So…we’ve sent out newsletters, had new business cards printed and placed signage on our family vehicles. Really nice, posh signage in a bright, fabulous color you can’t miss. Also, everything is spelled correctly in a readable, striking font. Like I said. Real grade A stuff.
I’d take a picture of it, but I’m no longer allowed near the car.
See it’s important to represent the business in respectable, somewhat elegant, non-lame ways, and so when I drive our SUV with the “KW Tile and Stone” prominently displayed, I am aware that I must be on my best behavior. Not speeding for instance. Or flipping people the fuck bird. Or eating a bean burrito while dialing my pimp.
Important, non-offensive things like that.
Also, I must be eye-catching and MILFey, so people will be enticed to look at the driver of the auto, then let their eyes sensually drift down to see the signage. Like a sexy, but ultimately frustrating, bait and switch.
And sadly, I have failed at all of these things.
Most recently, I was in the midst of cooking some turkey ridiculousness that called for chipotle peppers. Well, I only had serrano chilis, which is a whole different ball of searing hot wax. So I called my friend a few streets over and asked if she had some chipotle peppers I could borrow. Sure enough she did and told me to come right over to pick them up. And here’s the rub: Although it was 5PM on a Sunday, I was not washed, dressed, coiffed, or brushed. I looked like Keith Richards 50 years from now. In addition, I had just worked out and had Toots’ orange polka dot headband securely fastened to my crazy straw hair with butterfly clips. No makeup was a given.
I guess I kinda thought I wouldn’t look like complete hell, because I don’t know? My eyes are sightless marbles?
And so I went. Got right in that car with the classy signage and drove the few streets to my friend’s house. But here’s the thing about my neighborhood: People are out ALL THE TIME. And everyone knows everyone. And if you drive a car with bright yellow signage? They especially know you.
Word. As I drove into my friend’s driveway, her next-door neighbors and their entire extended family sat on lawn chairs in the front yard, staring shamelessly at my Courtney-Love-on-a-drug-binge face. Of course, knowing I had to get out of the car in my droopy butt sweats and braless sweat tee, I shouted maniacally for my friend’s son to come out of the house NOW! OH MY GOD, STAT! and bring me the chipotle peppers so I didn’t have to disembark the car. Thankfully, he complied and as I drove away with my peppers, I did a bizarre suburban-Crips fist pump and shouted to the neighbors:
“KW Tile and Stone! Way to represent!”
If by “represent,” I mean resemble a coke whore moron.
Which is why I’m not allowed to drive the SUV again.
Bwahahaha! I’m sorry, that is absolutely priceless. (Hugs)Indigo
Absolutely priceless. Makes walking the dogs in my pajamas with no makeup positively on track for business woman of the year!
Thanks for that, I feel much better!
I had to drop off mail at a friend’s and could not bring myself to knock on her door I looked that bad. I mean, really horrific. I dropped the mail on the ground wrapped in a bag of course and then sent her an email when I arrived home safely to say, hey, you’ve got mail on your doorstep.
I suppose it could have been worse, you could have been caught dialing your pimp.