Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

It ended up happening this week.

I work at home, primarily on my laptop. Two days ago I was juggling a host of projects. Making progress, meeting deadlines, Skyping for a meeting.

It was a druk (busy) day. I was getting a lot done, with more to do.

Honestly, I was in the zone. And as anyone knows, when you’re in the zone, you just go with it.

You don’t dare stop because you sense that you won’t be able to recapture that single-mindedness of purpose.

The arms of the Parisian-style clock on the wall swept around its face, passing the roman numerals again and again.

Suddenly, the door bell rang.

I hit ‘save’ and headed to our tiny front hall. (Front closet is more like it since it’s the size of a postage stamp.) Swinging open the heavy oak door, I came face-to-face with the flower delivery woman.

She stood there on the doorstep, smiling as she began to thrust a huge bouquet of sunny yellow spring flowers toward me.

As her eyes flickered downward from my face to my feet, the smile faded, replaced with a slight pursing of the lips and a raising of her left eyebrow.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon on a weekday, and I was still dressed in my pajamas and bathrobe. Not acceptable by Dutch standards. Clearly I was a lazy deadbeat. Simply not acceptable.

No little smile at the embarrassment of the situation. No joking around that ‘it must be nice’ to not have to get dressed or ‘gee, did I wake you?’

Nope. Just pure, unadultered disdain, barely (and I mean barely) masked by professional civility.

I took the bouquet (sent by a friend to thank me for assisting her with a rather long errand earlier in the week), and sheepishly closed the door.

Busted. Sigh…

What’s your personal ‘busted’ moment??


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