Doug and Becky's Farmhouse


“Try not to touch that one, honey.  That has the dead mouse in it.”

Becky immediately dropped the box she was toting out of the basement, simultaneously screaming.  Doug didn't even have to explain that he was teasing her; it always worked and she was always pissed at him.

“DOUG!”  she screeched.  “Stop doing that!”

They had spent the afternoon toting trash up the stairs and into the dumpster Doug had rented and had placed outside the farmhouse.  This was their dream.  Or rather Doug's dream:  buy an old, historic farmhouse out in the country and restore it.  She went along with it because he wanted it so much, but she was a Chicago girl at heart, and the house was so old and falling apart.

“Sorry.”  But he was smiling ear to ear as he said it.  The basement had decades of boxes and trash stacked up against the wall.  It was hours before they could even see it....a century old brick wall that at one point had been painted white.  “Hey!  We can fit the dolly down here now!”  He bounded up the old planks of the basement stairs, taking them two at a time, the noise reverberating through the basement.

“Doug!  Careful!”  As big as her husband was, she was amazed at how seldom he broke through walls or crushed furniture.  He would clomp noisily through their city apartment, often prompting the neighbors to complain.  Now that their living quarters was a century and a half old house she was fairly certain he would eventually plummet through a floor, staircase, porch....





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)