Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful to have a roof over my head and plenty to eat because there are so many people who don’t.
But when the roof over my head has to be replaced in the same month that the oven, the dishwasher and the furnace choose to dysfunction, living in a cave sounds like a good idea. Oh, and did I mention that last Sunday, my iron called it a day?
So we’ve had a revolving door of repair folks, mostly when Peter can be home. And their charge for walking in the door, before parts and labor are added, is already higher than dinner for two at an upscale restaurant.
I hear my mother’s voice in my head.
“They don’t make things like they used to.”