This CANNOT POSSIBLY Be Happening To Me. Again.
I had a most wonderful night last night. Lee (my friend with the insatiable sex drive, the one who always brings goodies galore. Hadn’t seen him in a couple of week. It was my choice to keep some difference from him for a short while. Nancy Regan and her ‘just say no’ campaign just didn’t give me the nudge I needed and I am at my least responsible when powdery or crystalline substances are in my vicinity.
(There was method to my madness: yesterday was my bi-yearly surrender of several pints of blood, determine just what’s going down on the microscopic level. I survived a full month without consuming alcohol. I did no chemicals (except those prescribed, which includes healthy doses of marinols, xanax to chill and the occasional Oxycodone to get me through the difficult situation s that are bound to sneak up when least expected. I decided to go for the gold, to have D Murphy jumping for joy over the medical marvels she accomplished the health goals we’ve been shooting for.)
To celebrate, I invited Lee over for the evening. He left 7-ish this morning. I haven’t slept a wink and my poor little penis is tender to the touch after our marathon.
This morning I had boucoup errands to run, all in the same area but too far apart to sweat the walk, especially after my excesses last night/this morning. Through the goodness of her heart, Anna offered to chauffer me around town. She’s such a doll. Everything was clockwork. I had three agencies I had to visit, all three had the info and pharmaceuticals ready within minutes of my arrival.
We returned to the Blue Lagoon and immediately upon opening the door we were smacked in the face with an unmistakable odor.
This can 't be, thinks I. The odds that what I suspect is happening is really happening are higher than those of getting struck by lightning seven times while driving to the bank to cash the Publishers’ Clearing House’s $10 million check.
There was no mistakinng it; we were assaulted by the acrid odor of melting rubber and burning wires. Electrical fires have quite a distinct smell.
I grabbed a couple of the construction hunk-a-bees, asking them to come sniff for themselves, make sure I hadn’t lost all of my olfactory senses. They agreed unanimously that, yes, there was indeed something either burning or getting ready to ignite.
This cannot possibly be happening. I remember, early in the year when I booked my annual disasters I requested one fire, no more.
I called the LL for advise. He had me flip off all the circuit breakers and wait for his electrician to arrive sometime before nightfall..
It’s coming up on 6 of the clock. ‘lectric guy just left. The outlet for the fridge was shorting out, sending sparks throughouy the termite ridden walls. I’m told it’s fixed ¾ he plugged the coolerator into another socket, electric taped over the sparky outlet and declared his work finished.
“You can rest in peace,” he assured me, “no danger of fire here.”
Why do I not feel so much consoled?
But, consoled or no, I must to bed before I fall down.