The Radon Inspection & Why My Husband is Awesome

When it rains it pours....that's the saying, and that is what always proves true for me. I can be working away in my office all day, and the phone won't even ring. Not once. No one would be at the door, for days on end. When I think of that I ultimately freak out and imagine my life is like a LAW & ORDER: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT....and I'm laying on my apartment floor, unnoticed, rotting away.

Then there are days when the phone won't stop ringing. Emails with questions, and projects with deadlines tighter than the size 5 jeans that sit in the bottom of my dresser drawer which I will no doubt never fit into again. That day happened this week....I was on my own, and giant missiles of bullshit were dropping down on me like a friggin' game of Galaga. I couldn't escape.

Eric is away at military training. I'm in charge of the the new home. Everything about it. EVERYTHING. I do all the research, grunt work, wheeling and dealing. Eric comes in last....slowly inching his way into the final moment, looks around, and with a Droopy Dog voice says, "I like this backyard". Done. Offer made. Accepted. Eric leaves and here I am.

9AM on Monday I get a call from my realtor. In a sweet-yet-firm voice she informs me that the seller's realtor put together paperwork stating that WE should pay half of the Radon mitigation that was required by the seller to fix via the previous week's inspection. Now, I've never purchased a house before, but my research taught me in this area that fixing this was the seller's responsibility alone. Throughout this process everything had been very professional and fair amongst all parties....until now.

I was taken aback. "No". I said. My realtor agreed and also admitted her surprise by the seller's realtor's arrogance in this matter, but she too had her game face on. "I thought you'd say that but I have to let you decide so..." That was the beginning of a two-hour back and forth that would quickly turn my brain into the most overcooked oatmeal. "You should do this because of this," and "we don't believe we should do this because of this," it went on and on. I was not angry....I was livid.

Livid in women's terms is the kind of angry that is mixed with hurt. An emotional red & blue make purple sorta thing. I'd been fair this whole time, and now the seller's realtor is taking advantage of that. I was on my own. A gazelle circled by cheetahs. My realtor just wants to please me, so I couldn't trust her answer, and Eric was unreachable. In the end....I caved, which pissed me off more.

In between all these calls were client calls and emails, outlandish requests that I had no choice but to indulge in. I remembered that image of the telephone operator from the 1930's movies, plugging in and out of calls and requests, her voice all cheery with each greeting, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Cut to 7PM. My darling husband Droopy Dog calls, completely oblivious to the bomb shelling of a day I've had. He is walking into a hornet's nest. "Hi Babe" he says. "Have you checked your email or listened to your voice messages?" I ask. "No why?" My blood pressure raises. I pause, recalling that this dude married me, for better or for worse....he's about to get the worse.

"Well, what is about to happen in the next few minutes you can say I'm venting to you, or yelling at you....take your pick." With that warning I proceeded to unleash a furious rant that had been bottled up and brewing the entire day. How I'm doing this alone, and he might as be in Iraq for all the help he was, how I do everything around here, how playing fair doesn't get you anywhere, how for all this crap I was dealing with I'd rather stay in Chicago...blah, blah, blah, fire, spit, sparks and tears.

Eric just listened. Within the sparce moments of silence that I took in breath before continuing my rampage, he would say, "You're right hun" and "you're doing a good job babe" and "I love you, you're so strong, I'm so proud, etc., etc." I ripped him a new one....he was a human pinata and happily...lovingly took it. Not only that, but secretly went online at 1-800-FLOWERS and quickly made a much overdue purchase of two-dozen red roses that arrived on my doorstep a couple of days later.

When they arrived....I felt guilty. The note said, "I'm so proud and grateful to you for all you are doing, and I wish I could be with you. You make me the happiest man in the world. Your husband, Eric." They probably cost too much, the same amount as a new light fixture we'll no doubt need.

That night when we met on SKYPE, he was beaming to see me. And I him. I showed him my roses, told him I felt guilty for yelling at him and that I don't deserve them. "Yes you do" he said, "I wish I could be with you". "I wish you could too". I replied. We then changed the subject to dreaming about our new house, our new life and all the rewards that await us after we get through these next couple of months.

Effing Radon. Effing Realtor. Wonderful Husband.