The Money Pit

So I thought for my first day back I would tell you all a little story.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful castle built high upon a hill and surrounded by glorious green forest. In the castle lived a dashing young prince who was desperately seeking his princess...

Oh wait...wrong story. The prince is real but he doesn't have a castle so much as he has a run down old house that would scare the pants off of a small child. His gallant steed is actually a gas guzzling truck and he's more a fan of whiskey than of medieval mead, but I still believe the fairytale comparison holds. The Prince and I met many years ago in high school and the first moral of this story is: first impressions are rarely correct. Especially at the tender age of 14 when I stated, and I quote, "Who him? Pfft. He's a jackass." Yes kids, even princesses swear.

Many years later The Prince invites me to his kingdom to see his regal home. Maybe it was the combination of the giant raccoon size holes in the floor or the sweet aroma of the dumpster outside the restaurant next door, but as I gritted my teeth and tried not to visibly cringe, I fell in love; with The Prince, the house, and his functionally retarded dog.

For the first few months I refused to touch a light switch in that house. Did I mention that I had to reach through bare insulation in order to find the majority of the light switches? The Prince had proudly led me through the house, regaling me with tales of the hardships he had faced while rewiring the whole thing at 1am. That is how I learned that the holes in the ceiling of the royal bedchamber were caused by The Prince falling through from the attic, nearly turning himself into a medieval Eunich. The other moral of this story? Anything can be accomplished under the influence of Evan Williams.

Fast forward a few weeks into royal bliss. Now you all know that I'm a tad- clumsy shall we say. For some reason, in spite of this knowledge, The Prince decided it would be a good idea to allow me to help work on his palace. (Yes, snigger away. I'm sure you all know what's coming.) One afternoon I was happily tearing apart the attic with a hammer and sheer elbow grease. I was prying wooden nailers off the roof joists while sitting on the top of the ladder, which we all know is a big ladder no-no; I was comfortable however so I ignored the stick figure warning on the top rung. I also ignored The Prince's suggestion to get off my lazy ass and get the pry bar from downstairs because if I kept prying away with the hammer something bad was going.....

And that's when both the nailer and the hammer let go. The nailer broke and went flying. The hammer kicked back and smacked me across the bridge of the nose. I fell off the ladder. Well, almost. Thankfully my Prince Charming was there to catch me and make sure I was safe and not bleeding.

Then he laughed at me and called me "Beak" for the rest of the day.

The End.
For now.