A few weeks ago, I kissed Husband and pets goodbye and took off for 4 days in the North Georgia mountains with 3 high school friends. After three months of new and unfamiliar, it was great to be with people who’ve known me so long they remember my original hair color.
There was pulled pork, foie gras from Quebec, cupcakes, ceviche, guacamole, a monster pinata, a wine tasting day, feet dipped in the river, dragonflies, dinner cooked by a private chef, lots of bug spray, and perhaps a few too many drinks.
I got back on the plane to Montreal relaxed and grateful for a few days away with friends. Despite some thunderstorms, we arrived only a little late and I was looking forward to seeing Husband and the animals. I checked my email and got the following messages:
Oh.
Due to the bad weather, we stayed on the plane for over an hour waiting for a gate. As you can imagine, that brought a weekend’s worth of relaxation and contentment to a skidding, thudding halt. At least the neighbor’s dog was gone by the time I got off the plane. The basement was not as easy to dismiss. Several boxes from the move that we’d been meaning to unpack wound up smack in the middle a sewage backup. Goody.
This was another new experience for us since basements (and by extension, flooded basements) aren’t common in California. Fortunately, once the landlord realized the extent of the mess, he got in someone to clean things up. As we walked through the basement, I pointed out all the places where the “stuff” had been. “That’s not ‘stuff’, that’s shit, Madame.”
Oh.
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