Let's face it, this house has been trying to get rid of us since the day we moved in. I know that might seem like a silly statement - something straight out of "Poltergeist" - but, for the love of God, it's true.
We've had the normal menagerie of pests - ants, stinkbugs, mice, ladybugs, and spiders. And while they freaked me out at first, I came to accept them as minor inconveniences with simple solutions. But, we've also had snakes . . . in the kitchen and in the computer room. And every year we've endured multiple termite swarms in various rooms throughout the house . . . hundreds of the buggers creeping and crawling and swooping over everything. Our landlords claimed that we were simply too citified and that termite swarms were what country livin' was all about. I'm not so sure they will feel the same way when their house collapses into a heap of sawdust and creepy crawlies, but whatever. Then there was that summer when I was pregnant and had to fight off dozens of wasps in the living room every day for weeks on end. We never did figure out where they were coming from. Most recently, we've had bats. Not inside - I'd be living in a Motel 6 right now if that was the case - but, they seem to have taken up residence between the stone chimney and the side of our house (there is a large gap between said chimney and the house . . . which is just lovely). At twilight, they shoot out of the gap by the dozen and go off looking for whatever bats look for . . . bugs, sex, virgin necks to suck.
So, we're used to these strange and unwanted house guests, as disturbing as they all are. We've also developed the ability to live with the many quirks this house possesses. For instance, the heat is always on. Always. It can be 95 degrees out and that hot air is still pumping out our baseboards. We pay a small fortune to the oil company. There is not one window in the kitchen that can be opened. We have huge windows in the kitchen too - they mock us. About every third day we have to replace a lightbulb somewhere. They just blow out. All the time. I should own stock in Sylvania. The bathroom always smells like mold. It is my theory that our landlords had Bathfitters or some such "quick and cheap" bathroom remodeling company come in and cover up all the mold and rot with one of those one-piece enclosure jobbies. I shudder to think about what most likely lurks beneath all that ivory acrylic. Also, there is no sub-floor underneath our floorboards. And gaps have developed between many of the wooden planks. You can feel a cool breeze coming up from the floor in Logan's room. Also, this is probably where most of our insect/pest problems come from. They just crawl right in. Who could blame them?
So, we deal. We suck it up and put on our brave faces and deal with all this crap. Why? Well, because it's a house and we can afford the rent. For the price we pay now we would not be able to rent another house. And finding an apartment big enough for all of us is an exercise in futility unless you want to pay about double what we pay now. So, we've been sort of stuck. But now we are going to buy a mickey fickey HOUSE and get ourselves out of this hellhole. *Cue the theme song from The Jefferson's now.* The only problem is that now this house is mad. And it's seeking revenge like some jilted ex-girlfriend.
How does it do it? Well . . . I think it's in cahoots with Logan for one thing. In the past few months he has ripped 80% of the painted-over wallpaper off the wall in his room. He has cracked the ceramic cooktop. Broken the dishwasher. Knocked our huge-ass monstrosity of a TV off the TV stand - it landed screen-side down. Of course it did!
All the knobs have broken off our washing machine. The lint filter broke on the dryer. A few days ago, the house had itself an electrical aneurysm. Something happened and suddenly an entire section of our house lost electricity. It just so happened that our refrigerator was included in the outage. And our washing machine. And my computer. FUN. The electrician used the term "nightmare house" and actually called someone over to go up into the attic with him where they pointed and laughed in disbelief at whatever horrors they found up there. I don't even want to know.
The house - it wants us gone. And the feeling is mutual. Please, Baby Jesus, let us get this house we're making an offer on tomorrow.