I suppose I should be contrite, apologetic, or otherwise civil, but there is something inside my brain that refuses to let me do that, at least not today.
Not after getting yet another handful of emails intended for someone else, someone with a similar name (but spelled differently) but with a very different career. Just the fact that she actually HAS a career sets us worlds apart.
But I digress.
When I opened my email this morning, I discovered several emails from someone I do not know, sending me photographs of the interior of an apartment building. Evidently PEOPLE live there! People who don’t always get their dishes done right away. People who may leave garbage in the hall because the dumpster is… not right outside their door and they can’t leave the apartment for long because… whatever… kids, injury, a riveting episode of Smoochie the Wonder Dog…
So, this other Karen (who does NOT spell her first name that way, but don’t blame me, I’m not her mother and I would NEVER spell a common name so stupidly as her parents did, but I digress), this other “Karen” is in real estate, so I get photographs of houses for sale (some of them she sent to my email address instead of her own… no, not kidding. I would not buy a used pencil from this person, much less a house).
The latest were the result of a visit by the pest control people to an apartment building on the other coast of the continent where I live.
I decided to have some fun, so I replied to the photographs with comments that make me sound like some kind of socially deranged dingbat. “Some people say good help is hard to find. I say good help is hard to bury in the back yard.” Should have edited it to say, “good help is even harder to bury in the back yard.” Ah, my world in hindsight.
Anyway, I figured I’d post this here, because a) answering those emails was a rather pleasant writing exercise, and b) there is a link to this blog on my outgoing emails and I figured this might serve as an explanation.
Or my defense. Whatever.