Yesterday, I was standing on a rug near our front door, thinking, "Why is this rug wet?" After more minutes than I'd like to admit had elapsed, I looked up and realized we had a leak. Now, when we bought the house a year ago, the sellers told us that there was some damage to this part of the roof, and that the whole roof might need replacing at some point. We promptly put this out of our minds and blithely went about our unsavvy-homeowners' ways (i.e., watching TiVo instead of learning skills).
Well, so now it's leaking. Neither my husband nor I can even fathom the handiness of Bihari's doctor/weekend-roofer husband; for us, that would be like trying to understand the proof of the Poincare Conjecture (or the Poincare Conjecture itself). Finally, I was compelled to act. I asked around for roof-repair recommendations, and began calling roofers for estimates. Here's my phone conversation with the first roof-repair man to complete an estimate.
MM: Tell me - can we fix just this part of the roof?
RRM: I can probably stop the leak. That would be a band-aid. But your roof...(pauses)
MM: Yes? What is it?
RRM: Let me see; how can I explain it. Uh, hmm...(struggles for words)
MM: Tell it to me straight.
RRM: Okay, I've got it. If your roof were a pregnant woman, she'd be in her third trimester. I mean, it hasn't got much time left.
Now, leaving aside the fact that the roof isn't going to produce a baby roof anytime soon, his analogy naturally troubled me. On further reflection, however, I realized I should be relieved, since he hadn't sniffed out my desperate childlessness over the phone. That's something!