I'm BAAAAACK!
And it's good to be home. It would be slightly better if a.) we had any food in the house and b.) I didn't want to PUNCH A SUPERMODEL.
Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Before I went on my epic New Hampshire adventure, my dad got an email from some folks down at the Academy who were wondering if our house would be available for two weeks. It was, so my dad decided to find out more. It turned out that this supermodel (who is pretty much the Spanish equivalent of Victoria Beckham) had a son who was going to do Adventure Camp at the Academy, and she wanted to rent a house in the area so that she and her two younger sons could be nearby. A fairly large sum of money is arranged for our trouble, and the family begins the long, arduous process of cleaning out our rooms so that these people can live there. As a result, my closet is now a no-go zone because everything that I didn't bring with me to New Hampshire is shoved in there.
Everything being dandy, we left the house for what was to be 8 weeks. Around midway through vacation, we get a phone call. Apparently, the supermodel arrived at our house and found it not to her liking, even though we sent pictures and she knew what she was getting into. So, she only stayed in our house for one night, and then moved on to another place, and we still get money, but not as much money as we would have gotten had she actually stayed there. Fine. I'm not thrilled, but I could live with that. Now, here comes the part that makes me want to punch her.
This morning, around 4:30 in the a.m., we made our return, only to find THIS. Going from least irritating to most irritating, we have:
* the pillow missing from my bed
* Fiona's toy horses scattered thither and yon over the house
* Jack's toys are all on the floor of his room
* My parent's bed is riotously unmade
* Sean's shiny new jacket was SHUT IN ONE OF THE WINDOWS, presumably to block the light, and LEFT THERE FOR WEEKS
* Sean's mattress, which is usually lofted, was left on the floor of his and Jack's bedroom, to accommodate the little boys, I guess, but still. Couldn't you friggin' clean before you leave?
* Dirty diapers were left in the bathroom garbage can FOR WEEKS.
* Somebody FUCKING SHAT IN THE TOILET. AND DID NOT FLUSH. FOR WEEKS. AAAAARGH.
Seriously, she brought a nanny with her. And a housekeeper. How did this even happen? In conclusion, LEARN TO FLUSH, BITCH.
So, yeah, THAT was nice to come home to. *begins contacting the gossip mags* "EXTRA! Spanish Victoria Beckham doesn't flush! Irate hillbilly tells all!"
ETA: New shit comes to light! Other damages include my little sister's blinds being ripped out and thrown on the floor, Sean's acoustic guitar being thrown onto the bare springs of his mattressless bed, a window out of joint (although we suspect it may have already been like that) and Curley the Spider Plant being dead. I don't think I can legitimately pin that last one on her either. But I'd like to. *mourns*
Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Before I went on my epic New Hampshire adventure, my dad got an email from some folks down at the Academy who were wondering if our house would be available for two weeks. It was, so my dad decided to find out more. It turned out that this supermodel (who is pretty much the Spanish equivalent of Victoria Beckham) had a son who was going to do Adventure Camp at the Academy, and she wanted to rent a house in the area so that she and her two younger sons could be nearby. A fairly large sum of money is arranged for our trouble, and the family begins the long, arduous process of cleaning out our rooms so that these people can live there. As a result, my closet is now a no-go zone because everything that I didn't bring with me to New Hampshire is shoved in there.
Everything being dandy, we left the house for what was to be 8 weeks. Around midway through vacation, we get a phone call. Apparently, the supermodel arrived at our house and found it not to her liking, even though we sent pictures and she knew what she was getting into. So, she only stayed in our house for one night, and then moved on to another place, and we still get money, but not as much money as we would have gotten had she actually stayed there. Fine. I'm not thrilled, but I could live with that. Now, here comes the part that makes me want to punch her.
This morning, around 4:30 in the a.m., we made our return, only to find THIS. Going from least irritating to most irritating, we have:
* the pillow missing from my bed
* Fiona's toy horses scattered thither and yon over the house
* Jack's toys are all on the floor of his room
* My parent's bed is riotously unmade
* Sean's shiny new jacket was SHUT IN ONE OF THE WINDOWS, presumably to block the light, and LEFT THERE FOR WEEKS
* Sean's mattress, which is usually lofted, was left on the floor of his and Jack's bedroom, to accommodate the little boys, I guess, but still. Couldn't you friggin' clean before you leave?
* Dirty diapers were left in the bathroom garbage can FOR WEEKS.
* Somebody FUCKING SHAT IN THE TOILET. AND DID NOT FLUSH. FOR WEEKS. AAAAARGH.
Seriously, she brought a nanny with her. And a housekeeper. How did this even happen? In conclusion, LEARN TO FLUSH, BITCH.
So, yeah, THAT was nice to come home to. *begins contacting the gossip mags* "EXTRA! Spanish Victoria Beckham doesn't flush! Irate hillbilly tells all!"
ETA: New shit comes to light! Other damages include my little sister's blinds being ripped out and thrown on the floor, Sean's acoustic guitar being thrown onto the bare springs of his mattressless bed, a window out of joint (although we suspect it may have already been like that) and Curley the Spider Plant being dead. I don't think I can legitimately pin that last one on her either. But I'd like to. *mourns*