"So, what does your husband do?"

You know those guys who have been here fixing our leaks and repainting the ceilings? Well, every time they're here, so am I. And I mean...here. At this computer. And contrary to how it may seem, I really don't spend my entire day sitting here. Hey.

Well, they were here bright and early this morning and covered my computer desk and the rest of the den with tarps and plastic. I didn't know this until they left to get something and I came downstairs to boot 'er up and check my email. I was nearly crushed they had covered everything up. I dug under the plastic to grab my workbook and headed upstairs to do my study. But I did have a nice chuckle imagining what they would think to return and find me blogging away covered in visqueen. And yes, I thought about it.

They returned, they resumed, then one of them says, "So, what does your husband do?" [Translation: nice house, wife sits on butt, poor sucker of a husband] I know he was probably just making conversation and I also know he's a really nice guy and it's just my guilty conscience screaming at me to earn my keep, but if they're back tomorrow, this chick is gonna don heels and a suit, grab my attaché case [locating & dusting it first] and wait by the front door till they walk in. I’ll purposefully rush past them and tell them I'm late for a meeting… with my editor.

what does my husband do...