Thursday, May 25, 2006

My House


- Hello, Rob.

- Who’s this?

- Your house.

- What do you mean “my house”?

- We need to talk about a few things, Rob.

- I’m at work. I don’t have time for this. Who is this, really?

- Rob, I’m your house. 5302 Lilac Lane. Light green, brown trim, three front steps. And we need to talk. You need to come home. Right now.

- Okay, Mr. House. Why do I need to go home right now?

- Well, for one thing, my guest bathroom toilet is running. You could fix that pretty quickly. There are some loose wires that might be a fire hazard in my attic. It’s time for the linoleum in the kitchen to be replaced – it’s cracked and stained. Oh, and I have termites.

- I’ve known about all this since we had you inspected. Why are you coming to life and bugging me now?

- Look, Rob, you can’t ignore me. I know what I am. I’m real property. I’m amortized over thirty fucking years. I’m the most important thing in your goofy little world. So come back now and fucking deal with me.

- Weren’t you happy with the floors? Didn’t those turn out nice? And we’re saving up to do the kitchen.

- Rob, I know where you live. I am where you live.

- Okay, okay. I’ll get on it.

- Good. And will you finally bring the dryer vent up to code, for Christ’s sake?

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