Alarmed by my bra

GA Voice - - Outspoken -

Your alarm sys­tem won’t work without an up­grade.

I re­ceived that no­tice from my alarm com­pany. Then re­ceived it again. And yet an­other time, much like other of­fers that come my way. I cur­rently find my­self grasp­ing for time, al­ways feel­ing be­hind in life. Is it be­cause I get up at 3 a.m. for work and rarely get a rest­ful sleep for fear of miss­ing my alarm? Is it be­cause I am a sin­gle mom and pur­posely put my son first, dis­card­ing mail, email, and phone calls for much of the week? Likely a com­bi­na­tion of both, I re­al­ized I needed to sched­ule an ap­point­ment with the alarm com­pany to come change the ex­pir­ing tech­nol­ogy for some­thing more modern. We picked the soon­est af­ter­noon they had.

Of course it was dur­ing a rare late nap my son de­cided to take, so I cor­ralled my two dogs into the back­yard so they wouldn’t bark at the work­man’s ar­rival and wake the tod­dler. Once the man pulled into the drive­way, I met him out­side and ex­plained where my son was and asked if he could be quiet dur­ing his work. He ex­plained that as a grand­fa­ther him­self he un­der­stood, and as­sured me his work would be quick.

Then as he en­tered my kitchen, he called his dis­patch to check in and I was re­minded that men can’t whis­per. I couldn’t imagine his voice could get any louder as he de­scribed my alarm model over speak­er­phone, his vol­ume matched by the crack­ling col­league com­ing through his de­vice. Blink­ing hard in dis­be­lief, I whis­pered, as a hint, that I was go­ing to go check on my son, an­other hint, and left him to his con­ver­sa­tion. For­tu­nately, Mr. Carter hadn’t stirred.

I could hear his phone call had thank­fully ended when my alarm went off. I quickly went to my key­pad to si­lence the house once again. The work­man quickly ex­plained to me the alarm was nec­es­sary to test the new unit. Re­al­iz­ing this must be a joke, I watched him re­turn to his orig­i­nal po­si­tion in my laun­dry room to trip the sys­tem again. Help­less, the alarm eee-ahhh’d for what seemed like an hour and I waited for the tiny voice of a con­fused Mr. Carter to har­mo­nize with the au­di­ble alert blar­ing in my house. Noth­ing. The test was over and my son mirac­u­lously slept through it.

Re­lieved, I was then told his work was done and all I had to do was sign some pa­per­work. We gath­ered again in the kitchen and as he pointed out where I was sup­posed to sign, I no­ticed from the cor­ner of my eye my bra. Yes, ap­par­ently some­time over the week­end I had dis­carded one of my bras right on the kitchen is­land where we were, and failed to move it in the afore­men­tioned hec­tic life­style I now live. Here we were … the work­man, me, and my bra. I made no at­tempt to move it since there is no way the work­man could have missed it so why try now, and I signed what was needed to get this guy gone.

I let the dogs in and had time to place my red face in my hands be­fore Mr. Carter fi­nally woke up.

“Yes, ap­par­ently some­time over the week­end I had dis­carded one of my bras right on the kitchen is­land where we were, and failed to move it in the afore­men­tioned hec­tic life­style I now live. Here we were … the work­man, me, and my bra.”

Melissa Carter is one of the Morn­ing Show hosts on B98.5. In ad­di­tion, she is a writer for the Huff­in­g­ton Post. She is rec­og­nized as one of the first out ra­dio per­son­al­i­ties in At­lanta and one of the few in the coun­try. Follow her on Twit­ter@Melis­saCarter

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