Where you at?

Cha Cha, are you ok?

To all of my three readers, never fear! I did not drown in the basement. Surrogate Dad rode in on his white horse and rerouted the sump pump. While standing in five inches of water. As you do.

Yeah, he’s pretty much the best. Ever.

I knew the water was rising, but I didn’t realize how high it would get. I lost my sewing machine, because I’m assuming you shouldn’t use them after they’ve been, you know, sauteed in flood water. And my Christmas tree is currently up in my garage, drying out and outing me as white trash. Christmas tree in May? Don’t mind if I do!

The really wonderful thing about having a flooded basement – besides all of the exercise – is that people are nice to you. People like your dads.

Surrogate Dad was there in a hurry to fix the pipe.

And Dad Dad said the nicest things, which was sort of like covering my little broken heart with chocolate frosting. He said, “Oh, honey. You know if I lived any closer, I’d be right there.”

Ohhh. Daddy, I’m so sorry I live far away. I don’t know why. I just have to.

And later, when I recounted that the Horrible. Smell. Emanating from the basement was, in fact, caused by two pillows in a trash bag that had sort of absorbed 37 gallons of icky water and started to ferment? He said, “Well, it’s a sign that you need to redecorate.”

Wise, wise words. He’s smarter than even Oprah.

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