This Stuff Used to Make Me Crazy

When I saw Ms. Betty's number on my caller ID, my first inclination was to let it go to voice mail. I didn't follow my instinct.

Instead, Ms. Betty was keen to start niceties, such as inquiring about my health, my children and my day. When I didn't reciprocate, she got to the point. While she and Mr. Betty were out of town this week, some thug wormed his way under the house, into the crawl space and cut the water pipe. They even left the hack saw.

I don't know what type of reaction I was supposed to have for this circumstance, but I chose to ask what I considered the obvious.

Me: What did the police say?
Ms. Betty: Do you want me to call the police?
Me: Yes, it isn't normal that someone would crawl under the house and purposely cut the water pipe. This is vandalism.
Ms. Betty: Well, I suppose it would be a good idea. Are you sure?

After we went through this for a few minutes, she got around to telling me about the damage. I hadn't even thought about damage. I figured a cut water pipe was pretty much the worst it would get.

Oh no. They had been gone a few days. So, this incident could have happened days earlier. The water had seeped into the house. Into the walls. The floor was rotting. James, the Hell's Angels-turned-carpet-guy's carpet was moldy.

Lona at the insurance office has been alerted. I will let her call the insurance company and we will go from there.

Sanity still intact.