I woke up on Wednesday night and Karl wasn’t there. He’d gone out for pub quiz and enjoyed himself way past the witching hour. (Which is fine …) But when I couldn’t get him on text, just to make sure he was okay, I started to worry. Then my sleep-addled brain went straight to the worst-case scenario: Karl was dead and I was stuck with a house to renovate on my own.
Yes, I admit it: My thoughts were more about the house than my possibly dead husband. Friends, this is what you have to look forward to when embarking on a no-sense-making-but-freaking-awesome project like buying and rehabbing a house in Detroit. Enjoy.
Oh, by the way, Karl is alive and well. He made croque madames for dinner last night. Good husband.