No Habla Mortgage

My wife and I have a housekeeper who comes once a week to clean up our stuff and make the house look somewhat presentable to the few restaurant deliverymen and scam artists who show up at our front door. "M" doesn't speak any English, and my wife doesn't speak any Spanish, so unless I'm home or the computer's conveniently parked on Google's Translate Tool, I'm really not sure how anything gets done. All I know is that when I get home, my shirts are clean and I don't step on the pieces of pineapple and mashed yam that Ben likes to throw on the floor.

So today I get home and Marsha and I are talking about our day. You know, who did you see? Who did you talk to? She says that she and "M" had a very good conversation. I'm thinking, "This oughta be good." She says that she thinks "M" said that our house is too small and that the one they're building up the street looks very nice, and if we're going to have another kid, we're gonna need a bigger one, probably have to...and she gives the universal sign for KNOCK DOWN.

Great, so either I've got a housekeeper who goes home and reads the The Robb Report or a woman who travels ten miles on a bus and then walks 6 blocks so she can spend the entire day scrubbing my floors thinks my house is a tear-down. Ah, the joys of home ownership.