So, I moved into this nice cozy neighborhood in this quiet little town called Willow Creek. The real estate lady showed me all the one bedroom houses in my price range. That's one house. Did I say "little"? Or, she said, I could buy a vacant lot and build my own if I liked. Hah. I'll take one that I don't have to build myself, thanks. Do I LOOK like I can build a house?
Honestly, what a scam. I could sell a big square of dirt and call myself a real estate agent, and charge a big fee for it, too.
Anyway, this is what happened the first day. The very. First. Day.
It wouldn't have got so big except that the first thing I did when the smoke alarm went off was to run outside like any sensible person, and wait for the fire truck to come screaming up. And I waited. And I waited. I finally figured out that nobody was coming, so I found the stupid fire extinguisher and put the damn fire out myself. Half the kitchen was charcoal by the time I put it out. Jeez.
Cheesy little cracker box, anyway. I told the real estate lady that the wiring was faulty. Well, I mean it has to be, doesn't it? Couldn't be my cooking! Maybe I'm not exactly Cordon Bleu, but come on! Anyway, you can't prove anything. I stuck my nose up in the air just as though I would sue her as quick as blink my eye, and she couldn't give me my money back fast enough.
They're building a new house next door, right on the corner. It's a little nicer, and without the bargain basement furniture, and I snapped it up. Besides, if I live on the corner, I can see what's going on in all directions. A few little touches of my own, and it was perfect.
