And Now the Fun Must End

Yesterday was a great day. Sun shining. Children laughing. Hair cooperating. And then I came home and the skies opened up and rained on my parade. Waiting for me in my mailbox was our mortgage payment book. For those of you who have not chosen yet to go into debt up to your eyeballs, a mortgage payment book is like a car payment book. Its just a book of slips that you send in with your mortgage payment.

That’s all. Just slips of paper that represent more money than God has. That’s it.

The racket in the mortgage crisis is not the inflated market or the interest rates, it is the fact that they don’t make you pay your first month living in the house. Oh, don’t you worry. You’ll pay it eventually. But the first month you are mortgage free. This means, you are able to walk around with lots ‘o cash in your pocket buying new furniture and paint and dog bed without a care in the world until, one day, you are blind sided by this daunting little payment book. Suddenly – WHAM! – the fun must end. You must drink heavily, take out your checkbook, and write this check that makes even the mailman weep for you.

What a dirty industry that mortgage banking business is. What heartless thugs. They give you a pretty little house and then expect you to PAY FOR IT?!?!? Whose idea was that, and why wasn’t I involved in that decision??? If I had been involved in that decision, it would look more like this: “Here, you adorable newlywed couple. Take this beautiful cape cod home, paint its walls, mow its lawn, say nice things to its neighbors, and always take down its Christmas decorations by New Years and its yours – for free!”

If I don’t post for a few days, its either because of the amount of tequila it took for me to write that check or its because I have no access to my computer because I can’t afford electricity. In either case, send help in the form of more tequila.

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