I don't know whyyyyy, she swallowed the fly.
Perhaps she'll die.
Well, actually, I do know. I know exactly why we swallowed the fly. It all started because the Little House in the Piney Stick Forest was in dire need of a new roof. We've been well aware of that need for a while now. We're just a cash-as-you-go kind of family, and we have been saving for the big day.
Which finally arrived.
Yes, folks. The time had finally come to put away the umbrellas in the master bedroom and get on the waiting list for the best roofer in town. Sir Lotsa Hair was pretty well over the moon.
But wait...Before we could get that fancy schmancy new roof, we (that would be he) decided that any and all iffy siding living beneath that roof would need to be replaced as well.
Now folks, I hadn't really noticed the iffy siding all that much. As houses go, I'm more of an innie. I notice stuff like ugly carpet on the stairs or furniture left over from the set of Full House.
We took a stroll around the place, though, and I had to admit that the man was right. There were really no ifs about it, some of that siding needed to go.
And that's how the whole thing started. I don't even remember exactly when it started. It seems like a hundred years have passed since the first truckload of noise arrived in the Piney Stick Forest.
All I know is that it started, and it started with a bang.
And a bang. And a bang. And. A. Bang.
For two full weeks and a day, I was living in the Bat Cave.
No matter where I turned, there they were, banging away. They banged on the back. They banged on the front. They banged all around the dormers. When they finished, the Little House in the Piney Stick Forest bore a striking resemblance to a patch work quilt.
That's when we decided to paint it.
Technically, we had always intended to paint it. We'd just entertained the goofy notion of a do-it-yourself touch up job. When we surveyed the damage, though, even the Scottish MacHusband knew it was time to chunk down more change and call in the professionals.
In for a penny, in for a pound of flesh.
Fortunately, the bangers were in cahoots with some painters so we didn't have to wait very long. The sawdust had barely begun to blow away when they arrived and started to paint.
They painted. And they painted.
And they Painted.
Now in fairness to the painters, their job wasn't nearly so much of a noisy one... unless you count the sound of their chatter. They were a talkative team, and when they weren't talking, they were singing. In their heads, I'm pretty sure they sounded just like George Strait.
It didn't really bother me, though. The real painter imposition was more of a visual one... as in, I never knew where they were going to pop up. No matter where I looked, there was a belt-less backside looking back at me.
I've seen London. I've seen France. I've seen painters' under pants.
All told, the Great Paint Project took nearly a month to complete. I guess that's not really so long when you consider that they had to drag the place into an entirely new century. In the end, the ecru trim turned white, the green shutters turned black, and the mossy siding? It's now a very light shade of the 2014 color of the year.
And then... finally... they came.
Pretend you don't see the scraggly bushes.
We decided to let the home wreckers trample all over them before we gave them a trim.
I'm pleased to say that they did a bang up job, too.
They banged on the back.
They banged on the front.
They banged on the perch of the Proverbs 25 husband
They banged. And they banged.
And. They. Banged.
It took them five full days to complete the roof, which is pretty fast when you consider the number of breaks they had to take just to endure the south Georgia sauna they were working in.
And then, it was quiet.
For a day.
It really was very, very, quiet.
And it was finished.
Now, I'm on the hunt for the perfect porch rockers.
And then, a swing, I think.
I don't know whyyyyyy, she swallowed the fly.
Perhaps she'll die...