Smarmy Hobbits

Nothing to do with my post, I just felt like jumping on the zombie bandwagon, since they are so trendy.

My piano tuner is here today.

He tricks me into him coming every six months.

When he finishes my tune-up, he looks up at me, slyly pulls out his little black book, and says, "Let's see, in six months, I have an opening on such-and-such a day, what time works for you?"

And I stammer and stutter, and he leaves my house $90 richer, and me a little less so, and I also feel a little manipulated.

So, I decided a few days ago that I would not let it happen again.

NO SIR!

I would not let this nice, little, bald, hobbit-like man trick me again (maybe he's more like a leprechaun...).

Jeremy backed me up and said, "I'll just tell him, 'thank you, we'll see you in a year,' and leave it at that!"

It is so comforting to have a husband who is firm where I am limp-noodley.

I couldn't bear to let him in, though, today, and made Jeremy promise to let him in. I knew he would see my steely resolve, and crumble.

...or...

No, I mostly felt guilty.

I mean, what if we are his only source of income?

Isn't it possible that he could be living off of $180 a year?

He probably lives in his car.

And lives off the samples at Costco.

Or, he could just be going around over-charging poor suckers like me, and rolling in piles of one dollar bills in his living room.

Jeremy just came back into the kitchen, to tell me that our $90 check won't work.

The piano tuner's price went up, and now he needs $100 to tune my piano.

I should charge him for my unused, and now obsolete, check.

Smarmy little hobbit.