It's so hard to say goodbye

My plumber greeted me at the door with a "Well this place is f*$%ing hard to find."

To be fair, it is.  Our complex is confusingly set up.  Our doorway is set under the car park (parking lot for you in the US) and the first time I tried to find it I got very distressed and called Shawn thinking he somehow could magically direct me to the apartment.  (He'd never been there, so you see how my logic works.)  Eventually I found it by deciding to follow a stranger.  (even more solid logic there)

The plumber was here to finally replace the string that was the flusher for our toilet.

The string.

That was a flusher.

For our toilet.

Yeah.

Anyway, he confirmed what we've thought all along.  Even thought this place is pretty sweet, we've actually moved into a sh*t-hole.  While fixing our toilet, he had to jimmy-rig the whole thing just to get a flusher in there, because whoever cut the hole mis-fit the whole darned thing.  Which is why I'm thinking there was a string there in the first place.  Proving further that our apartment is a death trap:  see Exhibit A (which mentions plenty about our life sucking for the next two years, but nothing about compensation.) 

Under two years is a BONUS FOR US ALL!

Once he was done fixing the toilet, the plumber joked about the oven not working, which is not funny.  Everyone who has to make dinner tonight, please try and see how many things you can come up with that don't involve using your oven.  Okay, smarty pants, that was real easy?  DO IT FOR A MONTH.  And mind you, also catering to Shawn's palate.

Moving on.  I'm a little sad about our toilet string being gone.  I mean, I even had the idea to tie a balloon to the string to fancy it up a bit.  And who else has a string to flush their toilet?  I think now that the string is gone, we should take a moment to remember all that he contributed to this household. (Note: You might need to have some tissues handy)

I have not given up the idea of keeping the string and framing it above the toilet.  It's important to remember your roots.  But most likely, it will go out with the rubbish when Shawn gets home.

Rest Well, My Friend.

Repairs up next: fixing the leaking roof, and please sweet Jesus, the oven getting fixed.