I watched BTVS, I should know better than to wish. If you are struggling with a flooded basement, it’s my fault. Sorry about that.
Sitting on the couch Sunday night, listening to the rain – one of my all time favorite sounds - when Mr. Wonderful came by saying, “I know you’re loving this.” “Yup”, I told him, “I get to fall asleep to the sound of rain.”
Two minutes later he hollered from the basement, “We’ve got trouble.” The window well had filled up with water and was leaking into the basement.
What followed was almost three hours of running around outside in the pouring rain, digging trenches and yanking bricks from the shed foundation to redirect the river flowing through our back yard.
It was a dark and stormy night – but thanks to the frequent lightening strikes, we could see just fine.
I know this makes me certifiable, but it was fun. Mr. Wonderful, Son and I were shrieking at thunderclaps, laughing as we dumped water from our boots and making major mud. It reminded me of all my childhood camping vacations.
So now we have a real gardening project. Friday a dump truck load of dirt is being delivered. Mr. Wonderful and I are building a 6-inch tall/ 50-foot long wall out of stone. Hauling dirt and stone should be the ultimate marriage enhancing experience. You will be able to hear the fighting by Sunday afternoon if you listen carefully. My goal is to not be in the crime report in the Metro section of the Washington Post next week.
My nearest neighbor has a dog, named Biscuit. He is the classic Bad Dog. He escapes on trash day and barks all night long. I have had several unpleasant conversations at 3am when I knock on Biscuit’s Dad’s door and ask if he is ok, since the dog is howling as if murder happened. I am really fugly at 3am, in my pj’s, hauling bad attitude.
A few weeks ago, Biscuit howled from 11pm to 4am. At 4am I went over and discovered that Biscuit was barking to get back into his yard. I let him in, but I wanted to put him in my car and drop him off in the next state.
I stomped over to bitch later that day, Biscuit’s Dad explained that he works really long hours; when he gets home he is tired and does not always walk the dog. Biscuit hops the fence, and when he is done partying he wants back in.
I realized that I had a choice, make him miserable or just step up. “Ok”, I told him, “Here’s the deal. I’ll walk your dog daily as long as you make sure he does not bark all night.”
Number only Son goes with me because it turns out Biscuit has a little sister who never barks. Son and I both have allergic asthma, so dogs and cats can’t happen at home. We take our borrowed dogs, run them around the ‘hood and have designated talking and dog fun time.
Being nice is so much easier than being mean. I should have offered to walk the dogs years ago.