Ugh, I am so happy that we are getting the fuck outta here in a month. So, naturally since we are moving our landlords want to start showing the apartment. That's great and I'm all for it but YOU HAVE TO LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU ARE COMING for fuck's sake. Our landlords consistently refuse to use my phone to contact us even though we've repeatedly insisted that especially since my husband is unable to bring any devices into work with him (he works in intelligence) he can't be reached and I am the best bet since, you know I work from home and I'm nearly always reachable right away or within an hour.
Anyway, since it's hot and I relish my casual at-home environment, I spent all day in my nighty and hot pant-esque undies since I wasn't expecting anyone. Welp, the doorbell rings and I stupidly answer it thinking it was my husband because he sometimes forgets his keys or has his hands full on the way in. So embarrassing. I said you'll have to wait a minute and slammed the door in their faces as I rushed to put some pants on. Grrrrrrr. This is why you fucking call people!
Okay, sorry for the rant. I just can't understand what the deal is and I sort of suspect that the reason they won't contact me is due to some dumbass sexist notion that my husband has to deal with all business as the "head of the household." I'm just so over it and can't wait to never have to deal with this shit again.