I've hired a house painter to give my office a new lease on life. It's a historic building, needs special care, and he's got it looking better with each stroke of the paint brush.
Yesterday, he came across a window that needed to be re-puttied. The only way he knew how to do it was with a caulking gun. I had putty on hand, but no caulking gun.
I was dressed in my usual office finery, and I should tell you that heels and a black dress are not condusive to property fix-up. Nevertheless, I took it upon myself to show the house painter how to apply putty to the window.
I dug the putty out of the can, and began to roll it into a snake for application to the window frame, when the phone rang! Hey, I can't miss the chance to sell property, so I answered the phone with putty residue clinging to the palms of my hands, because I couldn't wipe my hands on my black dress.
Okay. That out of the way, I began to apply the snake of putty to the window frame, gently pushing it into the "L", and getting the putty underneath my manucured nails. Then I licked my finger and applied moisture to the putty, before beginning to smooth it out with the putty knife. As I was smoothing out the putty with the putty knife, a customer came to the door, and I ran through back door of the office to meet the customer, who wanted to write a contract to buy a piece of land.
This is where I got putty all over my favorite "Lucky" ball-point pen and realized too late that I needed to wash my hands if I was going to switch from window-puttier to real estate broker. AS I was washing the putty off my hands, the customer decided he needed to go home and get his check-book so he could write an earmest money check. That's when I noticed that I had gotten putty scrapings on my high-heeled shoes and had tracked it through the entire office.
Back outside again, I asked the house painter if he thought he could finish the putty job, and he assured me that he could pick it up from there.
After cleaning up the putty residue that was all over the floor, the telephone the pen, and my fancy dress, I looked out the window that the painter was puttying, and saw that the putty was 3 inches thick and had finger dabs in it. The painter, satisfied with his work, had moved on to other things.
"Oh, to heck with it", I said, and went down to the hardware store to buy him some caulking, which I should have done in the first place. He removed all of the messy putty and did it his way, with the caulking gun.
Sometimes, I get the better of myself.