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Column: House of horrors

Posted: September 2, 2018 2:17 p.m.
Updated: September 4, 2018 1:00 a.m.

The first thing that happened when I moved into my present house is the pipe to the washing machine burst and water flooded one of the downstairs rooms where my office is located.

I knew something was wrong when I was typing one day and my desk started sinking.

The water had saturated the carpet under my desk and rotted the wood under the carpet.

I called the repairman.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“Let me put it this way,” I said. “Ever try to type in a rice paddy?”

He came over and repaired the damage. I forgot the exact amount. Six hundred and change.

What happened next was the air conditioner quit. It was August.

The guy came and said my “what’s it” was no longer doing something or other.

Three big ones.

The next crisis was when I came home one winter night and the house was locked and I couldn’t find my key.

After an hour of trying to pry open a window or door, I decided I would have to sleep outside with my dog, Catfish, the black Lab.

We cuddled together in some nice pine straw. Five minutes later, Catfish had left to chase through the woods after, I was certain, an escaped mental patient with one of those dangerous-looking garden weasels.

I had to get inside my house at any cost, so I found a rock and threw it through what I considered the least expensive window in the house.

A week later, after my heating bill had skyrocketed to new heights, I finally found a guy to come over and replace the window. That was another hundred and a half.

I have a Jacuzzi in my backyard. I didn’t have it put in. It came with the house. I don’t like Jacuzzis. I always feel like being boiled when I get into one.

Regardless, something clogged up the drain in my Jacuzzi and it overflowed with a couple of guests inside it, including my neighbor, Melvin Spinderman.

I called the Jacuzzi man. Neither of us was ever sure what it was he pulled out of the Jacuzzi drain, but it was either a drowned squirrel or somebody’s fur-lined underpants.

I don’t think any of my friends wear fur-lined underpants, but squirrels aren’t known for much in the way of aquatics, and Melvin Spinderman recently divorced his wife and joined a macrame class, so you never know.

Anyway, it cost me another couple of hundred to fix the Jacuzzi.

Last week, the floor in my shower collaped. Luckily, I was unharmed. I grabbed the soap rope.

A guy came to my house and repaired the damage. He charged me four big ones.

Melvin Spinderman, I understand, is looking for someone to share an apartment.

It’s just a thought. Just a thought.

(Lewis Grizzard was an award winning and much beloved Southern writer and syndicated columnist. He passed away in 1994.)


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