Let me tell you about my weekend.
I ran home on Friday after work long enough to change clothes and then head to Kokomo with a friend. Got there to discover I didn’t have any water. I tried every faucet in the house, hoping with each one to get a different story.
So, I called the landlord to come fix the problem and then left for Kokomo. (As an aside, renting is the greatest invention ever.)
Landlord calls later in the evening to say the water might be a no-go for a couple days.
I go home Friday evening and decided to just deal with the hassle of having no water. While I was cooking a pot of snow on Saturday — yes, I had a pot of snow on the stove to melt it in order to flush the toilet — I decided enough is enough, and I took a friend up on her offer to spend the night.
After packing up my clothes and other accoutrement needed for my impromptu slumber party, I decided to grab a bite to eat before leaving. Since I was already imposing on her hospitality, I thought, I should at least come fed.
Walking into the kitchen, I saw a mouse dart across the countertop. For longtime readers of this column, you are well-versed in my uncontrollable, irrational fear of mice. There was screaming, throwing of things and running. I decided to skip the food and just leave.
I headed back to Logansport on Sunday morning for church. Once I hit 40 mph, my car started acting up. It was bouncing like I was driving on a trampoline. I pushed it to 50 mph to see how it would behave and almost shook myself to death. That meant a long, slow ride to Logansport and then back to my house.