Last weekend it rained a lot in Massachusetts, possibly Mother Nature’s retaliation for our ONE snow storm during the winter. I can understand her frustration, and I would have been completely fine with the rain IF a) I didn’t live in a garden level apartment and b) I had floors that could better handle 10000 inches of rain (I may be exaggerating, but still!). Unfortunately for me, I was missing both A and B, so I was very much not fine with the inch or so of water that started coming up from my carpet. I had to wear rain boots in my living room/dining room (I live in the city, don’t judge).
So, I whined a bit, as I am doing now, and the management of my condo complex was like “Oh hey! we’ll wet vac and bring you a dehumidifier!” and I was all “HUMPH.” As my lovely little pond began to dry, the awful, hold-your-nose-so-you-don’t-vomit smell came, and I was all “No way Jose!” (Disclaimer: I did not really say that. I have nothing against Jose, and I used many more expletives.) This was Thursday.
Friday afternoon I get an email telling me I can either move down the hall or have the carpet shampooed. I, in my infinite wisdom, chose to move. Over the weekend. By Monday.
Don’t ever do that.
My new apartment is crowded with things (although I did decide to get rid of about 75% of my books–still trying not to hyperventilate about that one) and I feel a bit zombie-like and cranky (perhaps I need…brains? Ha?). But the new place is dry and smell-free, so I suppose I can’t really complain. I just need to sleep for about three days.
