No, not that kind. Although this is just as aggravating, with what I’m sure is just as many years of inconvenience, money-draining, and cursing to look forward to.
Apparently, there is a big, gaping hole in my house that isn’t my husband’s mouth.Though, of course, there’s also that.
Last night I was abruptly pulled out of a lovely dream in which I was dead, by the sound of rushing water. Because nothing gets by me (save for being able to ascertain true love), I knew instinctively that it wasn’t my mom’s usual “Urinate Around the House World Tour.”
I lifted the rug that was left by the old owners (long since passed, lucky, lucky bastards) to reveal a really deep and scary chasm in my dining room. It seems our “quaint,” century-old home was built over a a hundred foot deep well. And it decided to throw up. Much like I did after realizing in the blink of an eye, that I now had a massive plumbing bill, not covered by insurance because hell, they don’t feel like covering it, even though the law mandates it.
“Act of God, says the homeowners insurance with a metaphorical shrug. Maybe if the god were Cthulhu.
So, no water, which means I have to counter intuitively dry myself with Wet Ones (store brand, of course, store brand) until the plumbers get their asses out here.
I expect the ghost of Samara to be phoning me sometime this weekend. Makes me think twice about getting that 3D TV I’ve had my eye (eyes) on.
Wait, you know what? Screw that bitch. Water demon or not, any entity that forces me to wipe my as with pre-moistened towelettes for a week is undeserving of either my respect or fear.
I have stared into the abyss and it looks like ass.