He's On His Own

Well, I would love to tell you all is just peach-keep down Alabama way. Instead, Harold called me repeatedly Wednesday. He left me a variety messages ranging from "Mrs. Landlord, would you please call me," to "Mrs. Landlord, I really need you to call me. Now."

I knew it was pretty urgent, not because he left me 17 messages in a 20 minute time-frame, but because he was articulate. And, I gotta tell you, I was suspicious.

Let me just go on record here. I am so sorry I called him back. You see--according to Harold who is moving out in two weeks--there is a snake nest somewhere on or near the house. I stopped listening at "snake." He also told me Haroldine is refusing to come home until this whole snake-thing is resolved.

Refusing to come home? Good for Haroldine! I am refusing to set foot in Alabama until this "snake thing" is resolved.

Generally, I absolutely hate passing repair issues over to Jack when it comes to our home. He hates taking the lead on such things. It makes him cranky. But here I played the girl card. This baby was his. I will handle wasps, bees, Hell's Angel-turned-diva-carpet-installers, an air conditioner being stolen, a tree falling into rush hour on to passing traffic, being subpoenaed and testifying in front of Your Honor, deadbeats, lawn men being hit by cars, Ms. Shirley's latest snit fit and much more I don't even write about. But not snakes.

God speed Jack. This one is yours.