I’ve been in the same house for more than thirty years, and one of few things I’ve done by way of major maintenance is have the two-story “sleeping” porch replaced. I must have hired the Daryl Brothers for that job, because within a year, my dog (weighed 65lbs wringing wet) had trashed the railings, nails were popping, and unsightliness was re-establishing itself at a tidy gallop.
Much bad language ensued on my part, and I did not attempt in ensuing years to remedy the situation because look how that turned out last time. Or something.
In any event, the porch deteriorated to the point that once again, I could no longer stand it. Then we had a pandemic, and I wasn’t about to let just anybody on the premises. Welp, the pandemic is subsiding, lumber prices are not, and George who recently painted the house (note to self: no more having the house painted) knew this other guy, JD, and JD is a porch whisperer.
“It is time, Simba,” says me, because I will never again get the legit phone number of a porch whisperer. I turned JD loose on the rebuilding, with George singing back up. You KNOW what happens next. Every time George tapped on the door and said, “Miss Grace, we wanna show you somthin’,” I got another lesson on how not to build a porch. The Daryl Brothers and their predecessors hadn’t used the right nails or staples, the main support beam was rotten, the house was not square, on and on and on.
The price of the job has nearly doubled, and while it will be a beautiful porch (eventually), it’s costing me dearly, all so the skunks under the porch can stay out of the wet.
I had just finished yet another one of these gotta-show-you-something tutorials with the porch whisperer when I received a notification from my bank that my balance was low. “That doesn’t make any sense…” says me.
Except it does make sense, if somebody has hacked my debit card, and drained my account to the penny. Fraud Protection promised to investigate all forty-leven-thousand charges for $105.53 from the Kroger in Richmond where I have never set foot…but first, Bank of America “had” to let all those charges go through, meaning the checks I wrote to the porch whisperer, lumber yard, and-and-and bounced, and…
And then the scale told me something I had suspected, which I can blame on a meds switch, but still, it’s not my meds standing on the scale. It’s darling little me.
And then the washing machine died.
In the grand scheme of things, these are not big problems. They are nuisance problems and I have the resources to solve them. But I was daunted by the day, and tired of looking on bright sides and being grateful and detaching and all that other grown up stuff.
I bought myself some flowers to plant. I downloaded a few more Happily Ever Afters, I had a bite of some really good John Kelly chocolate fudge sent to me by my niece (I could taste the love), and fixed myself a lovely hot cuppa tea. That did not make everything come right, but I was comforted and fortified, and ready to take on the world again come morning.
How do you indulge after a bad day (or during one)? I’ll add three names to my ARC list for Miss Desirable.