When we last visited the 3 “what-do-you-mean-they’re-not-gay” boys renting my house in Nashville, they were busy remaking my little cottage home into the TKE house. If you need a refresher course, you can check out some of the earlier posts...
As my house is a duplex, yet ANOTHER boy has moved his testosterone into the separate upstairs apartment, ensuring that Lord of the Rings is playing on a continuous loop somewhere in my Nashville house at all times.
It’s been an eventful tenure with these renters. Let’s see…there was the break-in… the downed tree across the driveway…basement flooding…lightening striking….[Is no one else concerned about the escalating expression of nature's wrath here?] But this week…my property manager calls to tell me that the exterminator found BED BUGS in the house. Are. You. Kidding. Me? Think about last time you heard of a friend having bed bugs. That’s right. NEVER. Why? Because your friends wash their sheets….oh….at least every NINE months or so. While not the model of orderliness myself…rarely do I require ORKIN to make my bed.
When told that the exterminator treatments [plural!] were going to cost $180…the tenant insisted that “we don’t have that sort of money”. There’s 3 of you….you don’t have $60 a piece to rid yourself of pestilence?
I'm thinking of posting someone's "bedbug status" on their Facebook page.
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