We are still battling the insurance company and are elbow deep in madness here at our house - but when I read this story this morning, I had to share it. Because this actually happened to someone else who lives in a 1950's ranch house and not to us. For once.
Just like Scarlett O'Hara, I'm going to think about this one tomorrow. Click the following to see an unexpected way that our houses can betray us:
Oh, and excuse the language and dog name-calling in that piece. It's totally uncalled for if you ask me. I'm no prude and have been known to throw some expletives towards the wind when things get really bad but I think that a writer is really reaching when they have to do that to get their point across. *
* says Cranky Eartha who thinks that the world is swiftly going to Hell in a hand basket, the sky is falling (as evidenced by that article) and who can't get to any of her toiletries in the bathroom closet without bags of beans, couscous and other various crap that should be living in the kitchen falling on her head.
Until next time,
x's and o's,