73 minutes

There are 73 more minutes left to the time band in which I was told to expect the washing machine repairperson to arrive.

. . .

sigh. This is what my afternoon has been like so far: sit down to work. Our younger dog barks furiously, I go to the front of the house to see if it's the repair person. No, it's the spaniel across the street who's causing our dog to bark. I return to my chair. Work for 20 more minutes. I hear a noise of a large truck, go to the front window, and no it's not the repair person. I hastily pee in case the repair person suddenly arrives while I'm in the bathroom (because that's usually how it works). Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.