Happy Birthday!! Sorry this is delayed, I was doing, you know, important web surfing & etc.

And I know why no-one is asking her age. I had a friend once. He was touring the old Casey place, the one on the hill near the graveyard? You know that one? It sat on the MLS for about 5 years, no one wanted to live there after the “incident”, plus they had a hard time getting the stains out. *He* asked his realtor her age, and then, not realizing, bought the house. Soon after he had moved in … late at night … he began to hear a weird scratching sound coming from the old, linoleum kitchen. (Yes, it had linoleum floors. He hadn’t bought the house from a flipper. Shush.) A strange, eerie sound like broken fingernails scrabbling on concrete, desperately trying to claw their way out. So one dark and stormy night, which clearly shows this story isn’t set in San Diego, he crept down to the kitchen with only a wavering flashlight in his trembling hand. He had to use a flashlight because of some sort of junction box problem, let’s not get into that. He fearfully opened the kitchen door with a long creak, since it wasn’t one of those places with a “great room” setup where the kitchen opens to the dining room. He made a mental note to get a better floor plan next time. He shone his dim yellow flashlight across the kitchen floor — and — and — it was *heaving up from below*. He reached for a crowbar — set it to the edge of the linoleum — pulled a corner up — and underneath, still alive, was — BLACK MOLD.

Moral of the story: never, never ask your realtor how old she is.

I hate to comment on my own little posts, but I had no choice.