There is a man in my house and I want him to leave.
It is true that I invited him here and also that I am paying him for his time and that he is performing a very valuable service,* but while he is here and working, I feel like I should be working too.
So far, I have sorted the laundry, washed the dishes, and cleaned up the downstairs, which was starting to look like a badly maintained Lego museum. The problem is that it is my day off and I had planned a Very Pleasant Morning of ignoring the housework in favor of knitting, weaving, and listening to Son of a Witch on audiobook. I wasn't going to do any drudge work just yet. I don't care that these tasks can be crossed off my list and won't have to be done later. I feel cheated of my VPM and now I'm out of sorts. It's the kind of thing that only a very large slice of leftover birthday cake can cure. Fortunately, we had a birthday in the house yesterday and I know where the leftovers are.
In case you were wondering, I have this reaction anytime someone is in my house doing work. This includes El Husbando who --judging from his ability to relax in front of the TV while I wash the dishes--does not suffer from this malady. It is especially bad when Terry comes to clean the house. At least a repair-person is doing a job that I really should not be doing. But the cleaning? What kind of slacker am I? So whenever Terry is here (every other week; I recommend that you time your visits to me accordingly), I make an extra effort to look busy, overworked, and aggravated. Or I leave the house. At least that way she can't see that I'm sitting on my duff enjoying a cup of coffee while she slaves away at my dirty work.
*Hey! He's fixing the home gym; what did you think he was doing?