This doesn’t smell like my house. There are new weeds growing since we got the keys on Thursday and there are no condo association “guys” to come and obliterate them. We are the guys.
We’re also the guys who need to replace the refrigerator tomorrow. Crazy thing about us, we like freezers that FREEZE food. We also like outlets that provide power. Hence a call has been made to the electrician.
I have discovered that I have a “bum-leg”. It is my right leg and it doesn’t look like a bum. If I’m using that expression properly, I think it means that it just hurts a lot when I threaten to do something that smells of work. What a weird expression. I guess I could also say I have a “bum-finger” and a “bum-back”. But I wouldn’t risk saying “bum” anything to Laylee.
Yesterday I told her I was “pooped” and you can only imagine the hilarity that ensued. It was somewhat close to the Chaucerian 12-year-old-boyish delight I experienced when I found a typo online a couple of years ago about a disabled man who had been confined to a wheelchair after he was tragically “shat”. I can imagine that would do the body some damage.
The backyard is wonderful. Bamboo is taking over the world.
I actually packed dirty dishes and dirty laundry and I’m pretty sure I haven’t found them yet. I think they’re in a garbage bag somewhere with my brain… and possibly my digital camera. It may be a while before I post pictures of the house. I haven’t seen it since we got home from Houston (the camera, not the house).
I still feel like we made the right decision and this will be “home” someday, the home where our kids will spend a good portion of their growing-up years. But at this very moment it feels like some interlopers are about to honeymoon in my home and as I went to say goodbye to the old pad, I realized I had locked myself out with “their” keys to “their” new condo on the counter inside with a note welcoming them.
Yeah…”welcome”… and so help me if you don’t treat her well.