....

OH, TRA-LA-LA, HALLELUJAH, Whoop-dee-do!! I'm not going to ever say another word about Apartment number twenty-six and the bathroom ceiling exhaust fan,* my Dear Reader! Nor will I make any kind of fuss about having to clean that very apartment myself for two and a half hours this morning--lasting into the afternoon, by which time the locksmith and the tenant were to meet me there simultaneously; and the locksmith taking almost an hour to change that lock; and then one thing and another, and by the time the new tenant left with the keys it was two-thirty. The carpet cleaners were due to arrive at three! If you think I'm going to whine about sticking around the apartment for another half hour, cleaning the washer and dryer while waiting...well, why would that thought have occurred to you?

The fact of the matter is this: I'd gladly not ever see the inside of that apartment again as long as I live (perhaps a slight exaggeration; perhaps not).



*Only this, because I just can't help myself--it was ME who carried my little stepladder into the bathroom, climbed up on it and hoisted the fan to the ceiling and held it there while I screwed on the nut and inserted the light bulb. Even that small job was not as easy as it may sound, Reader Dear. Goodness, two hands seem barely sufficient when engaged in activity of this sort.





But let me tell you, two hands were plenty with which to applaud myself, and celebrate the fabulous end to the week-long falderal over the installation of that vent and ceiling fan!

Okay, now--now my lips are sealed.**





(**except, gee whiz, everything is done. Workmen all went their merry ways......
And I find that one of them--it's a mystery-- left behind a drill!)






......