Okay, look, I know it seems strange: the company I work for, well, it’s not really a company, it’s more just this guy I know, he specializes in slightly used cars. See, he gets the cars new, don’t ask how, but if there wasn’t anything on the odometer, people would get suspicious, so he pays me to drive the cars around for a few days. It’s like the whole “distressed jeans” fad. Anyway, it’s better not to ask.

Now, about that “at home” thing. I mean, who are you going to listen to, me, or Linda? She’s not the brightest light on Broadway. And she does drugs. Without getting too specific, let’s just say I know her dealer. She doesn’t know when she’s at home and when she isn’t, so why are you asking her about my schedule? Also, Tuesday, I was hanging some things in the attic; I saw you get out of the car and come to the porch, but I didn’t get down in time to answer the door. So it’s your fault you didn’t wait long enough.

So, that’s the deal. You just have trust issues. I blame your mother.