Jokingly, of course.
It was well maintained.
There were small blocks of townhouse apartments in the large complex, some two-story.
There were eight in ours, and everyone was friends.
We all had lots of fun partying together.
It was affordable, and your beer never got warm watching football in the winter.
Pets were allowed, and every unit got two parking spaces, with plenty of extra spaces for guests.
We’d been married nine years and just added a Chinese Shar-Pei/Lab mix namedRugglesto the family.
After a long day in the trenches, Ruggles and I caught some Z’s on the kitchen floor.
My wife said she put the newspapers down for me.
No, thank you!
When Sharon, Foxboro, and Mansfield proved too expensive, we looked into Norton.
We frequented Norton because of their large outdoor flea market, which had been there for years.
It was a great introduction to Norton.
Norton had other hidden treasures we’d find out about later.
You could’ve baled hay.
He was wearing dark sunglasses and was extremely hungover.
Getting him out of that chair would’ve taken a three-alarm fire.
He looked like he was gonna puke at any minute.
We were cordial but kept ourselves at a safe distance…
The Formica countertop was worn and delaminating.
The screen porch was rotted and unsafe.
It would have to be demoed.
The plumbing fixtures were filthy, and you could hear the toilet running nonstop.
We walked downstairs to the partially finished basement only to find silly string all over the wood paneling.
Someonehad writtenLed Zeppelinwith it,and being a Led Zeppelin fan, I was somewhat impressed by thebasement graffiti.
There were fist holes everywhere.
It appeared to have been a violent home.
I could sense it the minute I walked in.
The hot air furnace blew ashes out of the ducts.
The owner was asking $130,00, but the house was a condemnable, fucking mess.
I wanted no part of it.
I didn’t, but my wife blurted out,"$93,000…"
I was shocked!
The realtor, wanting to make a sale, asked excitedly,“Is that an official offer?”
I interrupted,“No!
That’s not an official offer!”
Then I looked at my wife and told her I didn’t want the house.
The realtor put the offer through anyway.
We were his first clients, and he desperately wanted to sell his first house.
I was a plumber.
Been in many houses.
Who the fuck was he kidding?
He was blowin' smoke up our asses, and we knew it.
He said the kid wasn’t gonna be home.
We went back and looked more closely at the windows and the receipt.
I knew I could demo the porch, remodel the kitchen and bath, and replace the heating system.
It was time to play hardball and call his bluff.
A day later, the owner accepted our offer.
He never intended to clean anything; he was trying to play us.
He told us we should look at him as a movie director, and we would be his cast.
He explained that he would create a script in which we didn’t look like financial risks.
The bank required both home and septic inspections.
Here I am on an apple break.
I think I was sanding the wood floors.
Susan and Ruggles were still living in the apartment.
I quit my job and spent 16 hours a day working on the house.
I was a lean, mean, fightin' machine!
It’s where we raised our family…
