“Well,
I suppose it’s
what you’d call a
fixer-upper.”

Mother grumbled
her response
to make a sailor
turn red.

Father seemed
chipper with the
choice.

I was simply
lost in translation.

The musty scent
was poison to
Mother,
and something to
be rid of,
according to Father.

But I think
I rather like it.

What is to be
our house
is already
the home
of spiders
and snakes
and other
creaturesof the
creepy-crawly persuasion.

“Well?”
he asked
expectantly,
the tone saying
it all.

“I like it.”
He was shocked.

I was pleased.