Sometimes I have moments that make me wonder if I’m mature enough to own a house. I had one just this evening. Jonny called me, and our conversation went something like this:

Jonny: Hey do you still have that hot mud stuff at your house? I need to send Rodrigo over there to pick it up so he can use it on another job. (Rodrigo is his paint guy.)

Me: Probably. If you left it here it’s probably still here; I haven’t moved it.

Jonny: Can you go put it on the front porch so Rodrigo can pick it up in the morning?

Me: Nooo-wah! It’s in the basement- I’m not going down there!

Jonny: What, are you in bed already?

Me: No, it’s scary down there at night!

In my defense, it really is scary down there at night. And it doesn’t help that Misty generally avoids the basement, even though she shadows me everywhere else I go. Dogs can see ghosts, right? Or something like that? So there must be ghosts down there if she doesn’t like it.

Then as I was about to crawl into bed, I took this picture:


which kinda affirms the childishness. (And gives you a sneak peek at my next project.)