...or, don't call me in a crisis.
So the flood saga continues. The claims adjuster just left. Bizarrely, I knew him from two jobs ago, when we both received pay checks from a different insurance carrier.
He measured absolutely everything in the apartment, doors, ceilings, alcoves, nooks, crannies, Kindles. (No, just kidding there.) Aside from the super ginormous metal tape measure, he had a laser gizmo that I'd never seen before. Want one! No real use for it...but I want one! (It will certainly beat crawling across the floor with the floppy tape measure trying to figure out if a rug or credenza will fit in some out-of-the-way spot.)
All this from an exploding bathroom sink.
I have enormous new sympathy for people who actually live through real flood crises. Or oil spills. Or earthquakes. Or whatever. I would probably be curled in a fetal position eating spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar.
Stay tuned for Six Sentence Sunday.
(Putting this reminder up to keep me honest. If I forget, someone give me a shout. But not too loudly. Because, you know, it'll be Sunday.)