You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
My carpet.
It’s apparently arroused at all hours of the day. My living room is pitching a small pup tent by the sofa.
My bedroom looks like the sahara desert with sand dunes popping up in various locations.
It’s like my carpet has exema.
Why? Who knows?
To my carpet company’s credit, they are standing by their work, as suspect as it might be.
I’m up early on a Saturday morning awaiting the arrival of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, yet again.
These are the twins who installed the carpet once and are coming back now for a 3rd time.
They came once to instal 2,000 square feet of carpet at a hefty price.
And now the carpet cooks are back to smooth out the bubbles that have popped up in various rooms.
It’s not dangerous like slime dripping out of the ceiling or mold oozing up from the basement, but it is frustrating.
My carpet bubbles look a couple of hampsters cuddled under a comforter on an amorous sleep over.
The carpet guys are cool if not country bumpkin-esque. I’m certainly glad they are willing to come back, but I wonder what the hell is going on.
It’s not like the Brady Bunch lives here. The house is basically empty most of the day. It makes me wonder what is going on while the kids are at school and I’m at work.
Are there carpet gremlins using my floor as an ice skating ring? Are moles burrying under the rug?
I saw reports that Jimmy Hoffa, the Union Boss is still missing. Perhaps I should file a report with the FBI about this. Perhaps my carpet contains a portion of his decomposed flesh. Maybe a nose or a foot.
All I’m saying is you pay a couple of thousand dollars for a job to be done you want it done right.
It should be part of the American constitution of expectations and contractual obligations.
So often it is not.
So I’ll just deal with the hampsters making whoopie under the carpet fibers in my bedroom.
And that’s crazy.™