So, I’m gonna let “C’est Vrai, You Suck” marinate for a little while longer (and it’s KILLING me to stay out of the comments so I don’t taint my results!). But I DID promise y’all I’d share with you “The Legend of Petey”, so here’s some of it:
THE LEGEND OF PETEY: ORIGINS
Almost 4 years ago, I was looking for a new place to live (for I had fallen madly in love with Chuckweasel and could not therefore continue to live with the Evil Troll — so called because, like life, he was nasty, brutish and short). So I was looking about at places to rent and I made Chuckweasel come with me, so I would not be killed.
Anyhoo, we went to see this one house, which I must admit was quite odd from the get-go. You entered the front door from the driveway into what I guess was supposed to be a storage-type area (tiled floors and whatnot), then you went UP A WHOLE FLIGHT OF STAIRS to reach the kitchen/living room and the rest of the house. There were no other doors but the weird basement one.
So, I’m standing there trying to get over the weird, when dear Chuckweasel says, “We can’t take this house. Poor Petey will die in a fire.”
I of course said, “What?” And Chuckweasel proceeded to explain that if we had a baby, who for some reason would be named Petey, he would be sitting in his bedroom reading (just like his mama!) and would therefore never be able to get to the front of the house and the weird steps in time to escape the fire. For some reason, this struck us both hilariously, pants-peeingly funny, and now every time we consider a place to live (or just about any purchase, really), we consider its merits relative to “Petey Safety.” And if either of us suggest anything even remotely dangerous, that person is “trying to kill Petey.”
There’s a reason we’re perfect for each other.