We don’t get carpet in our house. A while back, Frank ripped almost all of it out and replaced it with tile. It’s easier to clean, considering all the fur bearing mammals (most of those mammals like to bear some other stuff too) that are located in our general vicinity. Getting rid of the carpet was a big thing… especially when it was being ripped out. I felt as though I was participating in some bizarre archaeological expedition through the living room. Remnants of tenants past revealed themselves through discarded artifacts… long forgotten.
At the time, Frank was not overly concerned with the history and the gravity of what was found. In fact, He was rather liberal with his colorful language…I think the only friend he had that day was the bottle of Tylenol he was nursing.
Maybe we’ll get carpet again one day. If we do, I have a whole box of stuff I plan on burying under it. My only regret is not being able to see the person’s face when they pull that carpet up and see my dirty underwear. What will they think? HOw far would they go to figure out the truth? How far?