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Sunday, May 19, 2013

The Great Big Unexpected Expense Club

The Captain of my Glass-Bottom Dream Boat took a break from fire ant assault and trudged into the house. I greeted him warmly.

 “Guess what? We’re charter members!”

“Of what?”  He eyed me suspiciously. You’d think after 15 years, five dogs, six cats, one homeless ferret, and a broken axle, he would trust me. Maybe experience makes the heart grow wary.

“Well, we just bought a house.” 
He gave me that special look that says, “Tell me something that doesn’t involve taxes and insurance.” 

“You know how people were telling us of all the things that might go wrong after we moved in?  The basement might grow mold or the icemaker might make whirlpools on the linoleum, or the bathroom plumbing might do an Old Faithful impersonation?”


 “Well none of those things happened.”

“So we’re charter members of the Nothing Can Go Wrong Club?  That will happen right after I don lederhosen and sing the soprano version of The German Clockwinder with the church choir.”

I paused to regroup. Maybe I should have started this conversation by waving something aromatic and chocolaty in front of him. Unfortunately the only thing like that in the house was the last of the laxatives that I found under the guest towels in the corner of the linen closet at the old homestead. It wasn’t looking good for breaking the news gently. 

Everybody knows what it’s like to be faced with a downfall instead of a windfall, but homeowners are usually savvy enough to keep a nest egg that will keep omelets on the table in bad times. Unfortunately we're new to egg farming.

“So what are we charter members of?  People who eat their meals in the free sample area at Costco?”

 “Sort of. It’s The Great Big Unexpected Expense Club.  I guess it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

“Do I have to pay dues?”

“Honey, if you’re a member, you’ve already paid your dues.

“So what are we going to live without?  Crystal salt and pepper shakers?  Red Solo cups?”

I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on the heavens – actually I could only see as far as the ceiling fan in wobbly orbit, but sometimes you have to make do with what you’ve got.  
“The car died.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll just run out back and craft one out of catnip mice and doggie poop. We have plenty of that.”

My husband wields understatement like Inigo Montoya wields a pointy stick.

“I knew you’d figure something out.  In the meantime I’ll just run over to Costco and get supper.  I hear the pepperoni breadstick samples are great!"




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