Well… got a letter in the mail today; it wasn’t regular Canada Post delivery but rather an intra-office letter from the Powers-that-Be at Fernbrook Resort, and the letter’s contents were a shocker.
By the end of the missive I was in tears.
Recall how I mentioned that we were so proud to have our property upgraded from ‘Meth Lab’ to the more prestigious ‘Crack Den’ classification? And that, while nervous, we were aiming for the even more coveted ‘Crack Whore’ status? Well as it turns out, the letter has informed us that our ‘upward reclassification’ was a mistake. We should have been downgraded. No longer are we permitted to proudly refer to our property as a ‘Crack Den’. And neither can we use the lofty term of ‘Meth Lab’. Apparently we’re far worse than either of those. So much worse that they don’t yet have a name or descriptive for our property.
But what on earth could be worse than living in a Meth Lab we wondered?
Well, after some Internet research we came up with some possibilities:
‘Scrap yard’ – we were so impressed with the 1976 Pinto (in the yard since we purchased the home) that we added a Lada and a Yugo. It seemed like a good way to class up the joint but in retrospect the additions may not have gone over well with the neighbors.
‘Federal Government Disaster Relief Program Participant’ – this description fits our property to a ‘tee’. But our government pays $300 for a screw, $1200 for a hammer etc. etc. and I’m afraid that this designation will have the neighbors thinking that we’re freaking millionaires.
‘Dung Hill’ – with all the feces liberally distributed around the property by well-meaning though misguided ‘neighbors’ this is a definite possibility. But since we’ve worked hard to remove the little brown gifts this hardly seems accurate.
‘Trump Tower’ – have you ever visited? If so then you’ll have to agree that the ‘Dung Hill’ tag isn’t quite as bad as it seems on the surface.
Though perhaps our new reclassification name will be a little more personal – to remind us of our low place in the Fernbrook pecking order.
‘Haircut Tragedy Zone’ – usually I just stick a bowl on my head and snip away. Recently all I could find was the colander (that’s what happens when you reside in a trailer packed with trash)… and a colander is round like a bowl so... I just… I just hope the hair starts growing back soon. I hate being called ‘Patches’ by every snot beaked chicken in the neighborhood. And that goes double for their chicks.
‘Fashion Challenged Troglodyte’ – I couldn’t help myself. The attractive saleslady (another drop dead gorgeous Noxema girl) said that this year everyone would be wearing pink and black plaid pants with a yellow and orange checked argyle sweater.
So what was I to do?
I can down a case of Jack Daniels and a hardened cop would think I had only sipped some iced tea. But give me even a half thimbleful of a woman’s beauty and I’m completely intoxicated. A wreck. A plane crash. And not one of those little two-seater Cessna’s either. I’m a Boeing take down the building type of plane crash. A complete disaster. Without wing, hope or prayer.
Her beauty was so shining that my cognitive faculties were completely impaired.
So I bought the pink and black plaid pants complimented by the yellow and orange checked argyle sweater.
And I still wear them.
Every day.
They may not be attractive but they are durable.
Very durable.
Why couldn’t they have been manufactured in China damn it?
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