Bottom line, the vet will not refund any of our money. I told the lady, among other things, I better hang up because I was ready to cry.
And cry I did. While texting a toxic rant to my husband because we wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t taken this fantastic job and wasn’t so fantastically happy and well basically, because I have no one else to rant to who is as spastic about our current finances and living in two places at once. And because you know, somehow this all has to be his fault.
It might have included something like this: “They refuse to budge. Your daughter can pay for $%@^ vaccine. I’m doing my best to cut costs and run two households and I feel like I keep getting stymied. I’m ready to have this house be a home [as opposed to some jazzed up dorm rooms] — I just want this &^%&^%#%$^&% painting done. [Yes, I’m doing it all myself, including wallpaper stripping, spackling, and decorating] I am NOT going to cancel tomorrow’s hair appointment! I sink further into depression every time I look in the mirror. I want to get this house to the point where I feel at ease sitting at my desk for hours trying to have a job again. I can return the new even though it makes my life worth livingcoffee maker. Might as well call the rug guys [the ones in Charlotte that ruined our family heirloom oriental] while I’m miserable and mad at the world.”
Being the smart man that he is, Hubs replied, “I’m sorry.” Of course I really wanted him to add, “Oh don’t worry about the coffee maker. I know you love your Keurig. It’ll all be okay.”
OOOH lookie! He just texted again, “It’ll all be okay. I’ll call the vet this afternoon.”
Still nothing about my Keurig….