george

I was at an appointment when my phone vibrated. My burglar alarm had gone off. I quickly checked to see if it was the usual false alarms—maybe I hit the panic button on my keychain, or maybe I accidentally left the motion detectors on when Fredo was at home—and for the first time, it was neither. Someone had opened my door. I begged off and raced home. The police were questioning my handyman, George.

No, George did not have permission to enter the premises for his task of exterior painting.

No, George had not let me know he was coming.

Yes, George is my only option. By that I mean his work is hit or miss, but he freaking shows up, which makes him Pittsburgh's Absolute Finest.

"I was looking for a shop-vac," he sheepishly explained. I had accidentally left a door unlocked. How convenient for him.

I went back to the appointment and rescheduled, then returned home to find brown paint slopped in my window screens.

I repeat: Only. Option.

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