The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank Read Free

to have it filled in.”
    “But everything else is included in the original price?” asked my husband.
    “Absolutely. All you have to do is make some decisions regarding the quality of materials. For example, all wiring is borderline standard unless you want to pay extra and have it pass inspection. (We nodded.) I think that's wise. Now, about your tub. Do you want it hooked up under your shower?”
    We nodded numbly.
    “I assumed you did because you already said you wanted to put a car in your garage and that's where we usually store the tub until the owner tells us otherwise. Speaking of storage, you are aware that without the second story, there is a crawl space over your entire house for storage?”
    We smiled happily.
    ' 'Do you have some way of getting up there or do you want us to install a pull-down stairway as an extra? Let's see— apart from the paint, floor covering, spouting, storm windows, kitchen hardware, countertops, lighting fixtures, and keys, which are all extra, I think that does it."
    His fingers fairly raced across the keys of the tabulator as the extras mounted. Finally, he smiled and said, “The final tab is $29,500. Welcome to Frankly Fake!”
    As my husband handed back the pen, he smiled, waved it aside, and said, “Keep it. As a token of our mutual faith in one another.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, 1 saw him add, “Pen @ 59 cents” bringing the total to $29,500.59.
    Lot No. 15436 . . . Where Are You?
    We must have driven two and a half hours before we found our house.
    “Are you sure this is it?” asked my husband.
    “I'm sure,” I said tiredly. “This is the eighth house from the corner and the builder always staggers his styles so they won't all look alike. I counted them. There were the Williamsburg, the Richmond, the Shenandoah, and the Pee Wee, a Williamsburg, a Richmond, a Shenandoah, and this is our Pee Wee.”
    “I thought it was supposed to look like Mt. Vernon,” whined our daughter, “with the big pillars.”
    “But it does have pillars,” I said, pointing toward the four supports that looked like filter-tip cigarettes.
    “Will they grow?” asked our son.
    “Children, please!” said my husband. Then, turning to me he asked, “Happy?”
    I looked at the packing boxes stacked at the curb, the mail box on the ground, chunks of plaster embedded in the mud, windows dusty and spackled with paint and said, “I wish I could tell you—in front of the children.”
    “Well, let's go in and get settled,” he said, “And take your muddy boots on the porch inside.”
    “What muddy boots?” I said. “Aren't they yours?”
    “They're mine,” said a woman coming out of one of the bedrooms.
    “Who are you?” asked my husband.
    “I live here,” she said.
    “Isn't this 5425 Ho Hum Lane?” he asked.
    “Yes, but it's 5425 Ho Hum Lane Northeast. It used to be 18 Bluebird of Happiness Drive, but then the other street came through and changed it. When we bought it, it was 157 Squirrel Road, but Ho Hum Lane is on a circle and the even numbers change to the odd numbers at the house where the door is on backwards. You know the one?”
    “Right. That's two down from the chuckhole in the road where your car falls through.”
    “That's the one. Besides, 5425 isn't going to be your permanent number. That's a lot number and will change when the post office assigns you your new one.”
    “Oh? Where's the post office? We haven't been able to find it.”
    “No one is quite sure yet. You notice how everything blends with the surroundings out here?”
    “I've noticed. We went to a furniture store today and there was a bread card in the window. We almost passed it by.”
    “I know,” she said. “The gas station on the corner blends in so well, I feel guilty if I pull in after dinner when he's cutting the grass. It was the council who decided they didn't want commercial businesses to look like commercial businesses. We had enough of that in the city. They wanted them to have