Free My Fair Lazy: One Reality Television Addict's Attempt to Discover if Not Being a Dumb Ass Is the New Black, or a Culture-Up Manifesto by Jen Lancaster

my shoulder. “Okay . . . if you’re sure.”
    “Trust me.”

    Does the statement “trust me” ever NOT become famous last words?

    Over the next few weeks we find out that not only is our roof leaking, but our foundation has cracked. Water has saturated the electrical panel and the back wall’s become structurally unsound, which is causing the porch—you know, the place where I’m supposed to finish writing my book—to sink.
    As in my house is sinking.
    Myhouseissinking. 69
    This is bad.

    I’m in my office giving my manuscript one final read. I finish scanning the last page, click SAVE, and then SEND.
    That’s it.
    I’m finished! 70
    I turn my attention to the two men in full hazmat suits who’re about to tear out the drywall ten feet away from me.
    “I bet you find a little bit of mold,” I tell them. “I’ve been really wheezy in here, and my eyes have totally been burning. The thing is? I kind of think it’s some kind of beneficial supermold because I’ve been able to concentrate in here like never before. Seriously, I’m talking crystal clear focus. I’m pretty sure it’s a penicillin-y strain of mold that’s like brain medicine. Which, really? Perfect timing because I’m about to take on a project that’ll require me to use my mind, like, all the time.”
    The two men look at me strangely, and then they each strap on respirators. “You might want to wait in the other room,” the older one says.
    “Okeydokey,” I reply, practically skipping off toward my television. But before I can even get past the opening credits of I Love Money , the younger mold-remediation guy comes in—pale and shaking—to say, “We opened the wall because we were going to start the cleanup in your office and OH, GOD THE MOLD, THERE WAS SO MUCH MOLD. OH, GOD, OH GOD, WE HAVE TO SEAL IT UP AND LEAVE RIGHT NOW.”
    Oh.
    God.

    I guess we’re moving.
    We have no choice.
    Now I need to find a new house.
    And probably pack, too.
    My cultural Jenaissance will have to go on hold indefinitely.

    Well, THAT was one enormous, six-week-long pain in the ass. I never want to see another cardboard box again.

    We have to stop at the old place one more time tonight to drop off the garage door opener. The old homestead looks so different now. They began major construction the day we moved out, and now the entire kitchen has been gutted because of the water leak. All forty-seven of my former pretty white cabinets can be found scattered throughout the wee first floor. My old landlords are such nice people and I feel awful for them.
    As I walk around the kitchen, I can see the wall where the cabinets had barely been hanging on to a rotten stud, surrounded by giant blooms of black mold. I know from looking around, there’s no way we could have stayed here. There’s too much damage.
    And then in a bittersweet moment, I’m vindicated for a year’s worth of argument.
    “Fletch, check it out!” I demand.
    “What am I looking at?”
    “In there, in that space between where the wall and floor meet. Do you see?”
    He peers into the open area and then recoils.
    “So you see it,” I confirm.
    He blanches. “Whoa.”
    What I’m pointing out are droppings. Not mouse droppings like he’d assured me, but rat droppings. Turds. Poop. Doody. Big, fat, filthy, disease-ridden rat scat. Gah. I’m so grossed out that if I had a gun right now, I might just put myself out of my own misery.
    “I guess you were right,” he grudgingly admits. “There really was a ratinourhouse.”
    I nod, but I don’t savor the win.
    To: jen_at_home

    From: stacey_at_home

    Subject: Monday

    You up to hit Desire Under the Elms with me Monday? My date had to cancel at the last minute.
    To: stacey_at_home

    From: jen_at_home

    Subject: RE: Monday

    Totally! What kind of food do they serve?

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Property Ladder
    “A re you finally settled in?”
    “Yeah . . .” I trail off.
    “Do you love the new place?”
    “Yeah . . .” I respond