I have all sorts of home related complaints to make. I could, for example, go off on the fact that my A/C died last week when it was 104 and I had a pregnant sister-in-law visiting. And almost two weeks later, the HVAC place claims the new unit hasn't arrived yet...
Or that we keep getting poison ivy. It is growing up THRU the black Hefty bag-esque supposedly impenetrable weed blocker that we laid out last year. Joe had it so bad on his face that he had to go on Prednisone. Twice. My baby is on 'roids... Next Georgia got it on her back, arm & legs. Camille, who we call "Me-Too-Millie" because she hates to be left out, was delighted to get a single rash on the back of her knee, and proceeded to let everyone know that she too has "the ivy." I have it on my right arm because when I see some, I compulsively pull it out. Without gloves. And sometimes forget to wash with the Tecnu. So according to my own rules, I can't go cryin to anyone about it.
But I will cry about the next debacle. There was a weird smell in the office for a few days last week and I finally identified it as wet plaster, which meant the gutters were blocked and leaking into the ceiling. This I put together at midnite last Wednesday and proceeded to climb onto a rickety table on the deck and siphon out the vile gutter water, which after the fact, Stephanie told me is certainly lace with rat juice. Everything was fine until something slimey got stuck in the hose and I yanked it loose and tossed it into the bushes below. Thank heaven it was too dark to see if it was leaves or a bird carcass or a rodent. But when I re-started the siphon, I got the giantest mouthful of the vilest liquid ever. Really, don't swallow. I hurled over the deck and went back to work. Finally I got the gutters empty and went inside and cried a little to my sisters-in-law that our house traumas always happen when Dave is out of town. I composed myself and went to clean myeslf up as I smelled toxic and my throat was literally burning. As I opened my mouth to brush my teeth, I could see that I had some mysterious black stuff lodged in my gums. Oh. My. Gosh. I swear I need therapy after "servicing" my house.
This week Dave suspected there was a rogue diaper in the basement and tracked the smell to a certain corner that it turns out, was soggy and the smell is mold. Black mold. I was so happy to not be alone in the aftermath that I didn't even mind working with Dave to tear up carpet and scrape rotten padding off the linoleum.
I'm now waiting for termites. Or radon. Or both. As long as there's no rat juice.