The honeymoon is over.
So cliche.
The metaphorical puff of flatulence has moved the honeymoon into marriage. Blissful ignorance into reality.
We've now been in our house for nearly six months, so we had a good long honeymoon. Some might have wanted a little longer but I'm not overly greedy. Want what you've got and all of that, a good adage to pretend to live by.
Act One: Honeymoon: Our own home. Perfect in its apparent and robust imperfections. Protagonist weeds garden and dreams of decks and lattice. Children bounce on trampoline and remain uninjured.
Act Two: Honeymoonic Rumbles: Movement noted in curtains when blustery gales buffeting the city. Builder arrives on blue sunlit day. A bit off rip here and bang there. The house will be blustery no more. What's that dripping noise? Starting to see imperfections not over robust.
Act Three: Marriage: Dark clouds gather. Thunder threatens. A stud which I've often been on a quest to find from within the walls has mysteriously disappeared. Where is the stud? Where can it be? It can only be found with the opening wide of the wallet and emptying of its bowels.
And so when will the play finish? How many acts will torture the once entranced house owner? Fingers crossed if the borer continues to hold hands the house will remain erect. Had mad thought that injecting Viagra into the holes might help in this aim.
But luckily, we're located on what is cheerfully noted as the 'City Fringe' by real estate agents.
The fringe? Considering where the city is, say where the nose is on the face, then the fringe would be the pubic region. And I don't want to think about those sort of fringes. I suspect real estate agents in their poetical wisdom do not think it a goer to advertise houses on the city's pubis. Sounds positively painful.
Thinking about fringes, they're usually used to cover things up. My fringe sails over a craggy brow. The fringe on the chaise lounge disguises a car wheel which I really don't know where to put or what to do with. Fringes can be deceit-fool.
Here I dwelll on the city fringe - I wonder what exactly this fringe is hiding?
So cliche.
The metaphorical puff of flatulence has moved the honeymoon into marriage. Blissful ignorance into reality.
We've now been in our house for nearly six months, so we had a good long honeymoon. Some might have wanted a little longer but I'm not overly greedy. Want what you've got and all of that, a good adage to pretend to live by.
Act One: Honeymoon: Our own home. Perfect in its apparent and robust imperfections. Protagonist weeds garden and dreams of decks and lattice. Children bounce on trampoline and remain uninjured.
Act Two: Honeymoonic Rumbles: Movement noted in curtains when blustery gales buffeting the city. Builder arrives on blue sunlit day. A bit off rip here and bang there. The house will be blustery no more. What's that dripping noise? Starting to see imperfections not over robust.
Act Three: Marriage: Dark clouds gather. Thunder threatens. A stud which I've often been on a quest to find from within the walls has mysteriously disappeared. Where is the stud? Where can it be? It can only be found with the opening wide of the wallet and emptying of its bowels.
And so when will the play finish? How many acts will torture the once entranced house owner? Fingers crossed if the borer continues to hold hands the house will remain erect. Had mad thought that injecting Viagra into the holes might help in this aim.
But luckily, we're located on what is cheerfully noted as the 'City Fringe' by real estate agents.
The fringe? Considering where the city is, say where the nose is on the face, then the fringe would be the pubic region. And I don't want to think about those sort of fringes. I suspect real estate agents in their poetical wisdom do not think it a goer to advertise houses on the city's pubis. Sounds positively painful.
Thinking about fringes, they're usually used to cover things up. My fringe sails over a craggy brow. The fringe on the chaise lounge disguises a car wheel which I really don't know where to put or what to do with. Fringes can be deceit-fool.
Here I dwelll on the city fringe - I wonder what exactly this fringe is hiding?
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