"We are landed gentry," we stated with pride. "Behold, our livestock!" my husband gushed with a sweet of his arm toward our 3 fat cats. At that time, owning our own home seemed so right, so exciting, so grown-up and responsible. Now, eight years later, I'm wishing we were renters instead.
Yesterday morning, after all had showered and I was beginning my weekly wash, I heard a strange gurgling sound from our master bathroom. Thinking our daughter had forgotten to close the door in what should have been a private moment, I marched indignantly to the bathroom. There, instead of a seated and half-naked little girl, I saw a fountain bursting forth from the shower drain and water seeping from the toilet onto the tiled floor. It was anything but pretty. Turning off the washing machine helped matters a bit, but here it is 36 hours later and my dirty clothes are still sitting in standing water, unable to drain. We dumped all kinds of magic gook down the drain, and even thread the "snake" through to about 20', but still no improvement. We ran the dishwasher to check the progress. There wasn't any. This time-saving device, too, had to be turned off mid-cycle. Tonight we were forced to--gasp--wash our dishes by hand! It's like pioneer days out here. Tomorrow, if things don't seem any better, we'll be calling the plumber. Ch-ching.
Dear readers, this is
December! It's already an expensive month: Christmas, husband's birthday, my birthday, plane tickets, Hannukah, higher heating bills. I will be unemployed on January 1st. I will have to buy a computer and a car, as my current ones are company-owned. I'm overwhelmed. I'm stressed. I'm disappointed. I want to call a kindly landlord, who will refer me to the building super, who will immediately know what to do and fix the problem while the family and I see a Broadway show followed by a fashionably late supper. I will bring him homemade cookies on Christmas Eve as a thank you. Then, come tax-time, I will wish I were a homeowner who could claim the interest on the mortgage.
