I Got a Defective Unit on My Birthday, Too

She's gone, she's gone! She and her smoke wagon hit the road early this morning. Roomie and I have both used the day to decompress, and we'll likely do the same tomorrow unless the weather drives us out.

Remember when I said she might actually take care of the looming trees around our house? Oh, sweet folly of hope! That's not happening. Nope. Even though one of our neighbors offered the name of a highly-trained tree remover, Mommy Dearest tried to fob the job off on a general contractor who does a little bit of everything on the side. Because he was cheaper, I have no doubt, and when it comes to my safety and security, she spares every expense.

Whatever the reason, he took one look at the mammoth pine and declined the job as too big and far beyond him. He did promise to do a bit of landscaping, but I doubt we'll see him again, as he looked less than enthused at the prospect of working for a crazy skinflint with staggeringly unreasonable expectations. I don't blame him. I'd lay money on the odds that she calls in a few weeks in a snitty high dudgeon because he didn't jump at the chance to do a back-breaking, dangerous job for twenty bucks and her worthless gratitude.