Tales From a 90-Year Mortgage-Keeper

The dormer is currently being propped up with two paint poles and a corn broom.

"This house is bad, Mommy." -Michael Lutz

Dear Mom and Dad,

Just wanted to let you know that after a week-long bidding war and a last-minute phone call with an Iranian organ trafficker, we were finally able to purchase our first home (see above). 

As you can see, this old girl has been through a lot; right now I’m thinking at least three tornadoes, a locust plague, and a brief occupation by gibbons. Judging by the brownish-yellow sheen over every inch of wall space, I’m also fairly certain the gibbons preferred unfiltered. No worries, though. The seller assured us she’s got “good bones.” Which is a good thing, since the skin seems to have been stricken with some kind of necrosis. It could just be the nicotine corrosion; it might also have something to do with the evil-looking mold emanating from the pantry. Either way, most of it needs to be torn out, burned, and probably deconsecrated — the Amityville vibes are strong with this one.

All told we’re looking at three bedrooms and one-and-a-half baths. We're pretty sure the half-bathroom was once a full bathroom until someone decided to try to flush several drawers worth of cutlery down the drain. The shower tiles also seem to have developed an allergy to grout and are now rapidly emmigrating into the bathtub.

Good news though — we finally got that in-ground pool we’ve always wanted! Of course, there’s a few cracks that will need to be filled . . . and a liner that will need to be replaced. . . and about a pickup truck's worth of dog feces to be hoisted out. But everything in its time. Right now we’re just happy to have somewhere to isolate the possessed drywall.

Though the listing stated the basement was unfinished, it would have been more accurate to label it an active dig site. Sadly no exaggeration here. We even stumbled upon several piles of bones, one in which Sarah swears she saw a human femur. All I managed to find was a laundry sink, although the amount of hair (fur?) caked around it suggested it was once part of a thriving cottage alpaca industry rather than anything laundry related. Turning on the tap, I was greeted by a series of knocks and bangs — either from something trying to get out, or several somethings trying to stay in.

Please thank Grandma for the cheque. We’re hoping to re-sod the front yard, which the neighbour has been using as a burnout pad for his Chevelle. Speaking of neighbours, we’ve got quite the eccentric bunch around here. Denny across the street seems like a nice guy — always entertaining at all hours of the night. And he’s a dog lover! Just yesterday I noticed two mastiffs chained up in his backyard which, judging by their toned abs, most likely live on a diet of uranium pellets and whey protein. Our other neighbour is away quite often, but lets his friends drop by whenever their amateur grindcore band needs a quiet place to practice their sets.

The good news is that neither of us should be home long enough to contract anything terminal from the walls as we’ve had to take on extra work to fend off the mortgage payments. With any luck we’ll be able to go back down to just two jobs by the time our grandkids hit 65.

Forgive me if any of this sounds ungrateful. I know no one can be blamed for crippling interest rates or the millions of immigrants being shoehorned into already backsliding cities. I know that inscrutable zoning regulations, environmental restrictions, or the labyrinthine building code matrix are nobody’s fault. I know that allowing foreign buyers to snap up swaths of real estate to then let them melt into decay is just one more benefit of global markets. But mostly I know that the BoC is a transparent institution that definitely didn’t recently award itself $26.7 million in bonuses. With everything going on, not sure how I’d sleep at night knowing unaccountable empires didn’t have my best interests at heart.

Anyway, hopefully you’ll be able to come down for a visit. You might have to bunk in with the group of tenters down the street, as our other two bedrooms have been commandeered by territorial racoons. We’ve already had to pay ransom fees twice to free Mittens. I can’t imagine how much they'd charge for your release.

When the godly are in authority, the people rejoice. But when the wicked are in power, they groan. Proverbs 29:2