Okay universe – with two sump pump failures in six months (the second coming mere weeks after the repairs were finally completed from the first failure) – I am thinking you are trying to tell me something. Are you pissed at me for disparaging your buddy Mother Nature? Did I hurt your feelings when I said I thought earth could do without mosquitoes? Are you testing the adequacy of my flood-fighting skills because you envision that someday I may need to build and navigate an ark?
Oh wait…is it that you want me to be forced to spend more time on my upper floors – namely the kitchen? Oh my…you brought me two sump pump failures and untold grief for that? Have you tasted my cooking? Do you understand the consequence (unintended as it may be) of forcing me into the kitchen? What were you thinking? And couldn’t you have accomplished this upward migration without decimating my lower level not once, but twice?
If you are thinking that more time in the kitchen will hone the skills I need to get the perfect husband so that all is right with the universe – think again. You better flood the kitchen so I cam migrate further upward to the bedroom – at least there I have a shot. On second thought, I’m getting the Betty Crocker cookbook out right now…the only water I want to see for the rest of my time in this house is the water I attempt to boil.
Day six hundred and forty-two of the new forty – obla di obla da