Toot toot!

We've had some roof issues here at the spa lately, which isn't good given all the rain this spring. Every time it rains we've got estheticians and massage therapists popping into all the administrative offices, "Ummmmm, my ceiling is leaking? And it's dripping on my client? And I don't really know what to doooo?"

In some spas, a gentle drip of fluid (typically some exotic oil) on a client is actually part of a service. I proposed we should market it as such and charge extra, but more rational heads prevailed and the roofer was called to come out for repairs.

So they're here today, three big roofing trucks with multiple roofers (I don't know how many there are...they've been up there since 6:30 a.m., when I was most definitely not here yet). They used tall ladders on the back of the building to get up there, and so have their area marked off with yellow "CAUTION" tape, which just so happens to extend into my field of view out my office's picture window. It's a new sight to behold and looks rather crime-scene-ish. Groovy. I'm trying to think of some juicy rumors to start, and am considering bringing in Zoe's sidewalk chalk tomorrow to make a chalk outline of a body (the roofers are here all week, so I've got plenty of time).

So they're up there working away, and every once in awhile we'll hear what I'm assuming is a big drill being used. Quite frankly, it sounds like someone's letting loose a giant toot. Which means I, of course, giggle every time it happens. I can't help it. It's like when I hear the word "fart." It just makes me laugh. My sense of humor is sophmoric. I know this, and I embrace it. Love the Three Stooges, Mr. Bean, all that sort of stuff. I realize this makes me an anomaly among women, but so be it. Some things are just intrinsically funny.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find my whoopie cushion and fake vomit.