I have a secret room in my house

Hey, guys.  Guess what.  I have a secret room in my house.


Let me say that again, savoring the words this time:

I have a secret room in my house!

Anyone who has known me for more than 5 seconds knows that the deepest desire of my heart is to have a house chock full of secret rooms and cobwebby secret passageways.  No, strike that.  Make it chock full of well-lit and well-tended secret passageways.

And lo and behold, I found out the other day that I have a secret room!

I just don’t know where it is.

Long story short, I looked up my address online to see how much square footage my house has.  Up popped zillow.com with all sorts of information about my house.

Look at what it said, “This 1618 square foot single family home has 3 bedrooms and 3.0 bathrooms.”

Wait a minute.  What?  I know about the 3 bedrooms, but 3.0 bathrooms?  Really?  I can account for two bathrooms, but where is the third?

I recently watched an old Malcolm in the Middle episode where the parents were cleaning out a closet.  It hadn’t been cleaned since the day they moved in when they stuffed anything in the closet that they didn’t feel like dealing with.

When then parents pulled out a big box, there, sitting in the corner of the closet, was a toilet.  The mother looked at the father and said, “This isn’t a closet!  It’s a bathroom!”  And they stuffed the box back in to conceal it so they could have the extra bathroom to themselves and wouldn’t have to share it with the kids.

And apparently, according to zillow, I have a third bathroom in my house.  If Malcolm in the Middle is correct, it must be covered by all the boxes we never unpacked out in the shed.

Ok, you guys know I’m kidding that I really think there’s a secret bathroom in my home, but for just the tiniest lightning-fast split second when zillow.com said that my house had 3.0 bathrooms, my heart skipped a little beat and I earnestly believed I had a secret room hidden in my house and thought, “The basement!  It’s probably in the basement!”

And then reality came crashing down.

Oh, the bitter agony of disappointment.


Just so you know, Boy7 becomes Boy8 today.  Happy Birthday, Boy8!

He’s been saving his money since before Christmas for an iPad mini.  He’s hoping for a large cash donation from his grandparents on his birthday to go toward this purchase.  Poor kid is the only one in the family without an iPad and has been feeling the sting of exclusion.  He’s like an orphan outside a bakery in 1910 with his nose squished against the window, shivering, while the Rockefeller children eat their gooey pastries in their fur coats.


P.S.  I have a cousin once removed who’s in her early 20’s.  Somehow or other, she stumbled across a link to a music video made in the 80’s.  No Laura!  Don’t click on it!  Noooooo!

In her innocence she clicked on it and, unbelievably, watched it till the end.

In an attempt to make it all Just Go Away, she tried to excise the images of David Bowie and Mick Jagger dancing from her brain by sharing the video with everyone on Facebook.  All of us over 35 are well aware that you just don’t go about unearthing music videos made in the 80’s and unleashing them on your unsuspecting friends on Facebook.  It’s just not right, people.  It’s just not right.

And why isn’t it right?  Because the next person to watch the bad 80’s music video is compelled to pass it on to all of her friends.  So, here it is.  Watch at your own risk.


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