JJ and I are about to buy a new house. I can’t bring myself to say where. However, I must admit that it’s the kind of suburb that I used to scorn (still do actually), and scoff at its inhabitants (and when I see 30 year old mum dressed in the same Bratz outfit as teen daughter, I still scoff). I’m judgemental, but with reason, I think.
So this new house needs work. This is good because I have never lived in a perfect house. This is also good because I fear that a perfect house would need to be Enjo’d more than once a fortnight. I’m not only judgemental, I’m also a little lazy when it comes to cleaning. The pooches seem to have approved of the new house. Nennah and the kid have also approved.
And JJ is delighted to have a Games Room. That’s capital G, capital R. It really is a bona fide GR. And despite not having made an offer on the house yet (I’m playing cool as an icy pole, saying things such as: “Oh yeah, it’s okay, I s’pose. I mean, we will have to get rid of the asbestos in the shed.” That sort of thing), JJ has already planned the takeover with plans for a pool table and a doctor Who pinball machine all laid out.
Despite the asbestos.
Oh, and the snakes. Look, I’m not saying that this suburb is in the sticks. In fact, it’s 15km from the GPO (the old one) and has a delightful park beneath these great looking, graffitied silos (no longer in use and I think they were for flour or something). But therein lies the problem. Along the (dried up) creek of said delightful park, there are a series of signs with cute little illustrations on them. Something like this:
Umm… Yes… In spring, the odd tiger snake or two, after a few months of burning off all that summery goodness, they’re ready for a juicy treat. But they’re not only at the park That’s right. One of our new neighbours has informed us that they also like to slither down the street from the park. I’m sure that Yoyo and Peaches will be delighted. My aunt’s got Jack Russells who actually do protect her country home from snakes (although she tends to lose at least one dog a year – luckily the leftover pups have no problem procreating with their mother, father, sister, brother, grandpop, aunt… you get the idea). Anyway, I wish one would slither over to our place right now and wriggle up our clogged shower pipe. You’d think that my hair was made of Steelo or something. Seriously, jeff shoved draino down there 4 times and we got one of those snakes from Bunnings and everything, but nothing worked! Nothing.