|"Darling, the house is sinking." ..."I know. I told you not to sit down on the couch too fast."|
Ni Hao Readers,
I'm brushing up on my senior year, community college, "Intro to Chinese I" skills. Did I get an -A? Absolutely. Will it help when our house sinks through the ground and we have to beg someone to haul the Split-level out of their basement? No. I still don't know the exact phrasing for,
.."Sorry, we made a wrong turn, and have no idea how to patch drywall. Please accept the remaining Corn Nuts I didn't have a chance to eat before we landed on you. They're Ranch."
On Monday, the engineer showed up to inspect our abode. Right off the bat, I made him feel comfortable by letting the twins, clad only in diapers, lead him around the house, on a tour of sorts. If memory serves me correctly, I think I was the one originally leading the tour, but half-naked babies always seem to think they know what they're doing, and were quick to emphasis he was in their room and needed to watch them jump off something.
After thirty minutes of hemming and hawing in the kitchen while the more than patient man observed the Pottery-Barn-has-tea-with-Roman-Colosseum-Ruins-esque charm of the place, I received the full report:
I crawled back out of the cabinet I'd been using to, hopefully, block the bad news. My serious face applied, I broached the subject first, "So we're condemning it?"
He smiled. "No."
"Well, that's a relief. We didn't have nearly enough money to sew this much ground with salt." I picked up the container. "See? Empty."
Spying Butch trying to crawl through his legs, the man stepped to the side.
"Sorry about that."
"Oh, no worries. I have twins boys."
"So you're also drunk? Kidding. Sometimes I make awkward jokes if I think others can relate to a particular type of stress that catches me winking at the Gin bottle around two in the afternoon. Which, as we all know, is a terrible time to pour a high ball and declare, "Everyone will now fend for themselves."
"The bad news is your garage is sinking into the ground."
"We'll go pack our things."
"The good news is it can be fixed."
"Excellent. Let me just go throw one of my kidneys on Craig's List."
The engineer described the necessary procedure with a lot of, "pin this up", "replace that", and, "make sure your checkbook is where you can find it." We'll be able to save the Split-level with a careful, three-step plan I've devised...
1.) Sell all the children (preferably to a mother who doesn't yell as much).
2.) Also try to patent and sell idea for hangover-less wine with matching, monogrammed glass.
3.) Spend part of my time acting as a support beam so I can cut the cost in half.
If you need me, I'll be brainstorming...
Until Next Time Readers!