The Story of the Half-Asses

In her post on Sunday, AndreAnna over at Diary of a Modern Matriarch was talking about the problems they're having with their house and the fact that someone lied, boldfacedly (is that a word?), to a pregnant woman about the fact that water had never been in the basement.

Her situation reminds me an awful lot of my own just a couple of years ago. We bought from liars too. At least I hope they were liars because if they're not they're the stupidest people that ever lived. But since the husband is an elected official in these parts (not in our district anymore, thank God), I'm not sure whether to hope he's a liar or really stupid. That's a lose-lose proposition.

But Mr. Daddy and I came up with our own name for them. We called them the Half-Asses. They lived in the house we bought for at least 20 years and if something needed to be fixed during that time, they went about fixing it in the most half-assed manner they could.

When they painted the family room they didn't even attempt to spackle over the holes or the scratches in the wall. But the worst offense? They actually painted over dust and lint particles. You could see them there, like fossils in the paint.

The front room, what had been an old 60s-style formal living room, didn't have a light in it, so Mr. Daddy cut a hole in the ceiling and wired in a light fixture. When he took the switchplate off near the front door, there were actually two switches there -- one had been hidden under the plate. And it was taped into the up, or "on," position. Huh. That's weird, we thought and hooked the new light to that switch. Let there be light!

But then that night it started to get really, really cold in the house. Huh. We had no heat. Mr. Daddy started flipping switches and fuses. Nothing. So, he climbed back into the attic whereupon he discovered that the Half-Asses had wired their HEATER to a light switch that was located by the front door, taped it "on," and covered it up. Half-Asses.

But the real kicker, well, that was one was a doozy. When we had our annual termite treatment, the bug guy crawled out from under the house and said "You've got some water under your house." Hmmm...well, it had rained a lot recently and our soil was weird -- our land didn't "perk," whatever that meant -- so maybe that was it.

A few weeks later the pool guy (oh yeah, we had a pool, but that's ANOTHER story) was under the house hooking up the new and very expensive pump and came out and said "You've got some water under your house." Well. Hmm....this time there'd been no rain.

So, we called a plumber who was a friend of my dad's. He crawled under the house where he discovered a problem with the drain line from the washing machine. The problem, you ask? The Half-Asses had knocked a hole in the drain line. The plumber suspects they had a clog and instead of fixing it or replacing the drain line, the just knocked it loose. And water had been pouring underneath the house for over a year every time I did a load of laundry. With a toddler and a newborn in the house.

Now, someone who is more goodhearted than I might think, "Well, maybe it just burst. Maybe they didn't know about it." Well, one could think that except for the fact that they left their work light hanging there. Half-Asses.

And to top it all off with a nice big eff-you cherry, all of this had been missed by our apparently incompetent home inspector. I call him by a different name.

I don't really know why I'm telling y'all all of this. These thigns really used to piss me off, but I actually find it kind of amusing these days. Sort of one of those laugh so you don't cry kind of things.

Some Days Are Better Than Others

We live out in the country -- wayyyyyy out in the country -- in a county that has no leash law. This means that there are dogs running loose everywhere, including ours. Now, this hasn't really been a problem for us other than the fact that it has put a big damper on our plans to get an outdoor cat, because the dogs that roam our "neighborhood" mostly leave us and our dog alone, most probably because she's female and spayed.

There are two dogs up the road who have formed sort of a pack, a pack of two, if you will. And seeing them running around together amuses me to no end because one of the dogs is a gigantic, beautiful chocolate lab and the other is a wee little Chihuahua. Seeing them trotting down the road reminds me of that old cartoon where the little dog is hopping around all over the bigger dog and generally annoying the crap out of him, getting smacked to the wall but coming back for more, clearly idolizing the bigger dog.

Except in this case, the Chihuahua is totally the boss. You can just tell. He's a punk and I don't like him. I imagine that if he could talk, he would sound like the French soldier at the top of the castle in Monty Python and the Holy Grail "I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries." His name is probably Pierre or Jean-Claude or something. I know Chihuahua's hail from Mexico but this little dog is definitely French. Aha! His name is probably Napoleon. That would explain a lot, actually.

See, I know this dog's a punk because I've had "dealings" with him. One day as I drove him, I noticed a cow was out. Being the granddaughter of a dairy farmer, I know this can be a big deal. I didn't want the cow to get hit by a car and I certainly didn't want anyone to get hurt if they were to hit the cow. So, I stopped at a neighbor's house to try to determine who actually owned the cow and I was met at the end of the driveway by Mutt & Napoleon. Mutt, of whom I was actually a little afraid due to his size, walked kindly up to me and placed his paw on my leg as though to say "Whoa. What are you doing, dude?" (I was totally hearing Keanu Reeves' voice in my head). But Napoleon acted as though it was his mission in life to destroy my ankles and my eardrums simultaneously.

But that's not what pisses me off the most about him. No, what gets me is that he chases my car. He runs pell mell towards my left front tire, teeth bared, as though he could actually catch me. And though there is very small part of me that would like to squish him like a bug, every time he chases me I slam on my brakes causing everything in my front seat to slide into the floorboard and my kids to slide forward in their car seats. Every time it happens I swear that next time I'm not going to slam on my brakes and just see what happens, but I can never do it.

But the weird thing is that he doesn't do it every day. Sometimes he just watches me pass, sitting on a little knoll, with what looks almost like contentment on his face. And then there are other days that he would like to drag my car carcass into the woods for his breakfast.

And I realized just this morning, as he serenely watched me pass, that I'm the same way. Some days I feel content to watch the world go by and some days I just want to take a swipe at everything that goes up the road.

So maybe, just maybe, I'll cut him some slack. Maybe he's just having a bad day. Maybe.

I Thought We Were All Smarter Than That

On certain Fridays in this town, all hell breaks loose. Those are the football Fridays and the fans arrive early to get their traditional tailgating spots. Even though it's kind of a pain in the ass to get through town, it's still kind of exciting to see all the red and black flags waving everywhere.

A couple of years ago the University passed new rules regarding tailgating that didn't go over very well with the Bulldog faithful. RVs can only park at the intramural fields and not until after 6:00 p.m. on Friday. You can no longer park your cars on the sidewalks. Tailgating is restricted to certain areas.

I don't really care about these because we tailgate at my mom's since she lives within walking distance of the stadium. Most of the fans are used to the rules and don't give anybody any problems anymore.

But on Friday I saw a sign prohibiting tailgating hat I never thought I would see. I didn't think you would HAVE to make a sign like this: a sign prohibiting tailgating IN A CEMETERY! In a pre-Revolutionary war cemetery, no less. A cemetery that is actively undergoing restoration.

If you have to be told not to tailgate in a cemetery, you have some serious issues my friend.

UPDATED TO ADD: Apparently there ARE some people who need to be told. Central Michigan's backup quarterback -- and journalism major -- writes a blog at NCAA.com and wrote the following about his experiences in Athens:

“Ball game aside, the trip to Athens, Ga., was quite an experience. … The hilly campus was rife with tailgaters for over a mile along the bus route to the stadium. There was one scene so bizarre and frankly a bit frightening that offensive tackle Andrew Hartline nudged me and had me look out the window.

“Groups of people were tailgating in a cemetery. Welcome to SEC football.”

Awesome. Not.

It's Just Too Much

Okay, 9 West. Seriously? Seriously? Don't you think this is taking the flip-flop fad just a leetle too far?

9 West, I usually look to you for classics...shoes that never go out of style. Somehow I don't think we're ever going to look back at this and remember how awesome it was to let your toes breathe but keep your ankles warm at the same time.

I'm a Sore Loser

You know what sucks? Watching something on eBay for hours and waiting til the last minute to bid on it and still losing by mere cents. Twice.

See, we're getting Punkin a big girl bed. We've already bought the bed and frame. Mr. Daddy has sanded it and we're going to paint it sometime in the next couple of weeks. I went on eBay to see if I could find a quilt or comforter that I liked and found one almost right away. It's so cute. And it had no reserve and the starting bid was only 99 cents. And it came with a comforter, sham, dust ruffle, and valance. We watched it and watched it and watched and watched and finally, with only 30 seconds to go, we started bidding. And we lost. By twenty five cents. The winning bidder got the entire set for only $3.75. Three dollars and seventy five cents!!!!

Well, the set was from a lady's eBay store and I know that they will often have more than one set, so I started looking and sure enough, there was another one just like it. No reserve. Only 99 cents. But the kicker was that the auction was going to end while we were at church this morning so Mr. Daddy set up the bid assistant and we entered the top dollar we were willing to pay.

When we got home from church this afternoon, I ran to the computer only to find out that we had lost -- by SEVEN CENTS!! The winning big was $15.07. I don't think I took into consideration the fact that we had just returned from church when those cuss words came rolling off my tongue.

And now my dilemma. She has another set. No reserve. Only 99 cents. I could "Buy It Now" for only $49.95 plus $20 shipping, which is still a really good price for all that you get. But the thought that I could get it for $3.75 keeps running through my head. But then I think, what if it's the last one? But then I think $3.75!!! But on the other hand, I'm not sure I could take losing the auction again. Who are all these people who want the exact same bedding I do? Is somebody trying to thwart me? If it's somebody out there buying it just to re-sell it, I'm going to be really peeved.

Anybody have an eBay tips for me? Should I just go ahead and buy it? 'Cause this competition stuff is turning me into a bitter old woman.

The Hand that Rocks the Cradle

Well, of course I'm going address the insult heard 'round the world -- The Today Show's piece on "mommy bloggers." And that's what I thought it was, an insult. Although, frankly, the entire piece was so disjointed that it was a little difficult to figure out WHAT their message really was. Was it about the power of mommy bloggers in product pushing? Was it about how much money you can make as a blogger? Or was it about how dangerous and weird it is to air all your personal trials and tribulations for everybody in the world to read? I'm really not sure.

What I do know is that it only slightly touched on the best thing I've discovered since I started blogging, and which is the topic that I hear most often when I talk to other bloggers, which is the community that we've all found. When I started my blog just a scant few months ago, I had no idea that it would foster friendships. And I do consider my blog friends to be true friends. I've met some of you. Some of you I may never meet. But I know you. And I think you know me. When times are tough, we have friends we can turn to. And it's okay to share those tough times because you know these women (and a few men!) have been through the similar experiences. When someone's having a rough day, we all know about it and we try to give that person a boost. When someone celebrates an accomplishment, we celebrate too.

So, if Kathie Lee Gifford doesn't get it, that's fine. She just doesn't know what she's missing out on.

(Funny aside, I just ran spellcheck and the word "blogger" keeps getting flagged. Um, Blogspot? I think you of all people need to add that to your dictionary. Don't you think?)

I Was Right, I Was Riiight!

Which, you know, I pretty much always am. Or at least that's what I'd like Mr. Daddy to believe. But at least I will admit when I'm wrong, unlike some people. (That sound you hear is all the people I know laughing their heinies off!)

But I digress.

So have you heard the news about Starbucks? They're closing for three hours today for barista training. According to an article I read, Howard Schultz wants all the employees to be re-educated in the "art of espresso."

You know, back in the days when Mr. Daddy was a barista, they used to have to actually pull shots of espresso. It had to be timed just right and if your shot didn't pour for a certain number of seconds it wasn't a good pull and you were supposed to toss it. In recent years, in an effort to speed things up, Starbucks switched to automated espresso machines and all baristas had to do was push a button. Easier? Yes. Faster? Definitely. As good? I don't think so.

Back when Mr. Daddy used to manage a Starbucks he used to have problems with his baristas not making drinks properly. Every drink has a very specific recipe and baristas are supposed to follow that, with the exception of customer directed changes (i.e., an extra pump of syrup, dry, wet, extra hot, etc., though I have always said that customers should be limited to three adjectives per drink!) Mr. Daddy's boss did not support Mr. Daddy's view on this and actually told Mr. Daddy that he shouldn't be so hard on them for not making drinks properly (or actually showing up to work on time -- oh the humanity -- but that's another story altogether!)

This used to infuriate me. See, I'm a huge proponent of excellence in customer service. Add to that the fact that I'm a very strict recipe follower and you have yourself a good old fashioned know-it-all -- me! Have you ever had a mocha with not enough mocha in it? Blech! If I'm going to pay $4+ for a coffee drink, it better damn well be the most delicious thing that ever crossed my lips, you know what I'm sayin'?

And that's another thing, Mr. Schultz. You have 7,100 stores. I know we're all about making a buck, but I think you could afford to cut the cost of your coffee just a little bit. Do you know why McDonalds and Dunkin Donuts are cutting into your market share? Because for the average American, a $2 mocha at Dunkin Donuts tastes just the same as a $4 mocha at Starbucks. I bet if you cut the price of your coffees, your profits would double because more people would buy. Heck, I could sure afford a $2 coffee more often than I can a $4 coffee.

So, go ahead, close your stores for a couple of hours. Train your baristas to make the drinks the way they were meant to made. And next time you wonder what to do? Just ask me. 'Cause I could have told you all of this four years ago.

Love/Hate

Do you know what I hate? Those letters that you have to type in for validation to prove you're not spam. I know, I know. I have those letters on my site, but seriously. Sometimes they're so squinchy that you can't tell what they are. I promise I'm not spam! A necessary evil.

Do you know what I love? This:

Tootsie Farklepants at Vintage Thirty gave me this award. I'm just tickled pink. I'm passing this award along to Esme at Blowtorch in the Middle -- she knows why -- and to Lauren over at Full Hands Mom. And finally, to my good friend Lulu over at Lulu's Laundry. Thanks for being my blogging buddies!

Do know what I hate? What Brittany Murphy has done to her lips. Look!

She used to be so cute. She used to have the #1 lips that people requested when they went to have a little something "done." Now? Well, now it looks like she got her lips caught in a drain.

Do you know what I love? I love when viruses only last 24 hours. By the time I got home today Bubba was his usual chipper self. I'm completely convinced though that he had been saving up every thought that entered his head while he was feeling poorly and as soon as he began to recover the words started pouring out. The.child.has.not.stopped.talking.

A funny exchange he and I had: He asked me a question I didn't know the answer to. I said "I couldn't tell you, Bubba"

"Come on," he cajoled. "You can tell me."

Do you know what I hate? Being stared at by creepy old men. On Sunday in Savannah, we made our daily pilgrimage to the shrine of the Starbuck where we enjoyed our caffeinated beverages and a tasty pastry. I kind of felt an old man staring at me but then I started reading the paper and forgot all about him.

Do you know what I love? A husband who gets rid of creepy old staring men. "You're being stared at." Mr. Daddy announced loudly. Huh? "I'm trying to embarrass him to make him stop staring at my wife" he said, this time even louder. I didn't look to see if the old man was still staring. But yay for Mr. Daddy!

Do you know what I hate? Packing to move. Or to be more precise, sorting to pack to move. Ugh.

But do you know what I love? Finding a poem in a box in the attic that my sixth grade boyfriend wrote to me. It is a breaking up poem, to be precise. And now I'm going to share it with you. (Please note that I am copying this EXACTLY as it was written).

I am so sorry I am
drying up by the sun.
But now I can not
have so much fun.
I love you and only you cause
that's very true,
I wish we could get married
but that wouldn't work out
because we have a lot of doubts.
I don't want to see you again
because we can't be a friend.
Tell everyone I said I love you all
and I said Hey, but always
remember that I am not Gay.
I may grow up and be
the American President or I might
teach baby's how to eat a mint.
But for now I am just an ordinary fellow, Bye and tell every-
one hello.

I love you,
I truley do.

Ah, young love.

Beautiful Disaster

Two things today gave me the idea for this post. First, Jen M. over at Get in the Car! wrote a very thought provoking piece about beauty standards in this county and what steps we take to make ourselves feel beautiful -- or the steps we don't take, depending on your point of view. I started to comment on her site but couldn't form anything coherent at the time (her blog intimidates me a little because it's so well written).

But I continued to think over the topic today and I came to the conclusion that I cut, color, wax, make-up, -- I'd like to say exercise but we all know that would be a lie -- not in an effort to conform to society's standards, but in an effort to make myself look like I used to -- when I was young and dewy and my head was not besmirched by grays.

Then later, I was emailing back and forth with Niki over at Impostor Mom and she recounted a very small portion of a story in which she lost half an eyebrow to a waxing gone wrong -- at least I'm assuming it was gone wrong since one generally doesn't WANT to lose half an eyebrow. And her story made me think about all the times I suffered for beauty or had some cosmetic related disaster befall me.

• Of course we all remember the lip liner from hell perpetrated on me by the Henri Bendel consultant.

• One time I went to have my upper lip waxed. Occasionally, fluctuations in hormones give me a little bit of a 'stache so I went to have that taken care of. The girl was new and instead of placing the wax all the way across my upper lip, she just put it on either side of the philtrum

So, instead of looking gorgeous and hair-free, I looked like Hitler! It really wasn't that much hair, but the complete absence of hair on either side made it really stand out. I didn't notice until I got home and then I had to go to the store to buy a self-waxing kit and finish the job. (Small digression: can I tell you that it wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be to find the name of that part of your lip? And that also in my search I came across this amusing site. I am now fully convinced that there is a blog about everything!)

• Once when I was in college, my friends and I visited the local cosmetology school because we heard you could get a $5 manicure. So we went and the very nervous girl filed my nails and stuck them in some liquid (You're soaking in it!). After my fingers were all pruney she confessed "I'm not very good at painting nails. You can do it yourself if you want." Um. If I was any good at painting my own nails I wouldn't be here asking you to do it. But she was right. She wasn't very good and I did end up painting them myself.
  

• And probably the pièce de résistance was the time I went to a very chichi salon in Hilton Head, SC, to a stylist who had trained at Vidal Sassoon in London, to get my very trendy, very chunky highlights. I asked for two very blonde, very thick streaks on either side of my face. I wanted funky. Cool. This is what I got:

When he dried my hair, I didn't have two blonde streaks on either side. I had two WHITE streaks on either side. Very damaged white streaks I might add. Hair so damaged, in fact, that a big chunk broke right off a day later. I went back to the salon and he told me he couldn't help me. He told me he thought I wanted "dramatic". Well, shit. I did. But not The Munsters! One of the other stylists took pity on me and tried to put some color back with some kind of rinse but it didn't really help. I ended up chopping most of it off a few months later because the hair was so damaged.

Those are just a few of the times I suffered for beauty. I'm sure there have been others. And I'm sure there'll be more. But hopefully not too many. Anyone want to share their horror stories?

There Are Children Starving in China....

But first, a few housekeeping details.

Mr. Daddy is out of town for seven days. That means the care and keeping of the two chirrun is up to me. Tonight? A rousing success. No tantrums. No tears. Oh, and the kids were really well behaved too. (Also? I can blog with abandon! I'm going to positively gorge myself on blogs! Bwahahahaha!)

Lauren's sister solved the mystery. Check out the comments in this post. Yay Lauren's sister! I thought I was going to have to get In Search Of involved.

And finally, look what Karen over at The Rocking Pony gave me!


Karen is one of my best blogging buddies! If I could give this right back to her I would, but I think that kind of defeats the purpose. So, I'm going to pass it on to a new friend, Tootsie Farklepants over at Vintage Thirty, and my old (and by old I mean long time!) friend Laurel at The Tea Party Place. But truly, I love you all!

But now back to the starving children.

So, you know there's an obesity epidemic in this country, right? Especially among children, right? The old song and dance was that we all had to clean our plates. But not anymore. We all know that, right?

Apparently my son's pre-K didn't get that memo.

See, at this school, if you clean your plate (making a "happy plate" they call it), you get a prize. And not just any prize. You get a piece of candy. Yes, you heard me. You get a piece of candy. Don't get me wrong. I don't have a problem with candy in and of itself. Candy has its place and time. I just don't think that it should be used as an encouragement to get kids to eat.

Bubba comes home almost every day telling me that he made a happy plate. Once or twice he mentioned how full he was and I told him that he didn't have to eat it all if he didn't want it. "But Mommmeeee! I wanted to make a happy plate!"

My concern grew when I visited for his Holiday Luncheon. I served his plate with a small amount of everything that was offered. His school does have one rule that I heartily approve of -- you have to try at least one bite of everything on your plate. So, I made Bubba try everything. He ate all of some things and overall ate what I thought was a good amount. He asked if he could have his dessert -- a cookie -- and I said yes.

"Bubba!" his teacher chimed in. "You can't have your cookie. You didn't make a happy plate!"

Um. I'm his mother. If I say he's eaten enough to have his cookie, then he can have his cookie!

Overall, I really like Bubba's school. They seem to be giving him a very good basis for kindergarten. They go on interesting field trips. His class has several international students and he's getting exposed to a lot of other cultures. And I really like his teacher. She GETS Bubba (i.e. she thinks he's really smart, like I do!). But, she also knows how to keep him in line.

And see, here's where my real dilemma comes in. Bubba eats very little at home. My stance has always been that the whole family will eat what I cook. I refuse to be a short order cook. And you have to eat at least one bite of everything on your plate. But, if that's all you choose to eat, then that's all you get. No snacks. Nothing. If you don't eat, you go to bed hungry. There are many nights when it seems that Bubba eats very little. So, it kind of comforts me to know that he is at least eating something at school. Even if he does feel compelled to eat it all.

Am I going to bring this up with school administration. Maybe. I haven't decided yet. What do you think?

The Book is Dead. Again.

Well actually, according to Newsweek and Jeff Bezos, they're not dead, they're just going digital. Here's a link to the story, if you're interested.

In case you don't feel like clicking through and reading the whole article, which in all honesty is how I often feel when I see links such as the above, I'll summarize it for you.

Jeff Bezos, who founded Amazon.com has just created the Amazon Kindle (as in kindling the flame of knowledge), the newest e-Reader. Compared, innovation-wise, with the iPhone and iPod, it does sound as though it is leaps and bounds better than other eBook readers. For it to succeed, Bezos says that "If you're going to do something like this, you have to be as good as book in a lot of respects."

Here are some of the things that Bezos says make the Kindle "as good as" a book:

• it contains an aura of "bookishness"
• it has the dimensions of a paperback
• it weighs 10.3 ounces
• it uses E Ink, a breakthrough technology that mimes the clarity of a printed book
• it has a 6" screen

And don't forget that when it's in "sleep" mode, it displays retro images of ancient texts, early printing presses and beloved authors like Emily Dickinson and Jane Austen.

Okay, where to start? Can I just go on record and say that I for one don't ever see myself falling into the eBook craze. Although the device does sound kind of cool, I just can't imagine myself settling down onto the sofa with a hard plastic case to read a good book.

A book has weight. Heft. It has a smell. It has a specific typeface (which I guess could be duplicated, BUT). It has cover art. Just go read Faster Than Kudzu (specifically the 10/19 post) to see how important cover art is to a lot of people. For me, these are all a part of the experience of a "book." Of reading.

I'm just not sure that experience can be duplicated by a machine.

Some other things the Kindle will be able to do:

• Store up to 200 books! (ummmm, isn't that what bookshelves are for? What about a library, people? While I'm all for supporting authors, oftentimes a new book just isn't in the budget, you know? That's where libraries come in handy. Kindle currently has no plans to loan books.)
• It can venture out on the Web! (ummm, again, will my computer become obsolete? Because the Kindle can also receive emails!)
• It has advertising space! (To borrow from Grey's Anatomy...Seriously? Although they say that advertising is not in their plans for the Kindle, you know it's just a matter of time. I read books to get AWAY from advertising. Will there be no space left untouched by Madison Avenue? Is nothing sacred?)

I think the most disturbing thing, though, is this quote:

"'The possibility of interaction will redefine authorship," says Peter Brantley, executive director of the Digital Library Federation, an association of libraries and institutions. 'Michael Chabon will have to rethink how he writes for this medium,' he says. Brantley envisions wiki-style collaborations where the author, instead of being the sole authority, is a "superuser," the lead wolf of a creative pack."

I don't know about you, but I don't want to tell Michael Chabon, or anyone else for that matter, how or what they should write. That's almost sacrilegious, in my opinion. The writing process is an art form, one that shouldn't be tampered with. It is storytelling. Can you imagine how Jane Eyre might have turned out if Charlotte Bronte had consulted her readers upon the completion of every chapter. It's absurd.

So, I'm curious. Is it just me? Do you ever see yourself using a Kindle? If not, is it our generation? Am I too old? Is this my my misguided attempt to hold back the sands of time? Will I, like those who proclaimed rock and roll to be the devil's music, be shaking my hips to the digital beat in 10 or 15 years? Let me know what you think. I'm curious.

Technical Difficulties

Ladies and gentlemen: The Madame Queen is TRYING to post about her fabulous Super Suppers event. HOWEVER, @#$(*@#($*@ Flickr is NOT cooperating. We will return soon with your regularly scheduled programming.

(in the meantime, if someone could tell me maybe what I'm doing wrong -- or if perhaps I'm just an idiot -- I would GREATLY appreciate it.)

UPDATE: Okay, I finally figured out what to do. Please bear with me. I WILL post today, but now I must actually do some real work. Ahem.

In which I seek your advice

So, I need some feedback from you guys about something that just transpired. Mr. Daddy and I both feel that we've behaved reasonably, but I'm just curious to see what other people have to say.

On September 22nd, I purchased on eBay a Knight costume for Bubba for Halloween. The seller had an option that said "If you choose the Buy It Now" option, you will receive free shipping. GREAT! So, I chose Buy It Now, but when I went through Pay Pal it charged me $10 in shipping. I went ahead and paid it but immediately emailed the seller and asked about why this happened and asked if she would be refunding my money. By Sunday night I still had no reply to my email, so I sent a 2nd email, slightly more terse in tone asking about the refund. Monday morning I had a reply and by Monday afternoon our $10 had been refunded. GREAT!

On Tuesday of this week I realized "Hey! Where's Bubba's costume? It seems like it should have been here by now." So, we emailed the seller again. Nothing! No response. On Thursday we got an email saying that the item had been mailed and we should be receiving it any day now and in fact when we got home that afternoon the costume was waiting for us. It seemed to me that it took longer than it should have for the package to arrive -- we've always received things super fast when we've bought from eBay-- but whatever. It was here. All was right with the world.

And then we opened the box. And everything inside REEKED of cigarettes. Well, there was no getting the costume away from Bubba at that point so we let him have it, but GROSS! We've had the costume for a couple of days now and it still reeks. Mr. Daddy is an occasional smoker and even he was grossed out by it.

Of course when you buy anything on eBay you're supposed to leave feedback. We decided not to mention anything about the lack of communication or the slow shipping, but we did mention that the costume smelled like it had been made in a cigarette factory (we didn't use those exact words, but we did tell the truth). I felt that was only fair. As a buyer, I would definitely want to know that kind of thing.

And this morning we had a hateful email from the seller. She said that she was trying to raise 4 children and that we had "ruined" her business. AND she left us negative buyer feedback and said we were "difficult to work with." I say that if she's SO concerned about her business she shouldn't smoke around her "merchandise" (not to mention her KIDS! Hello!).

Were we wrong? I don't think so. But I'm curious to hear what you guys have to say.

UPDATE: The seller has emailed Mr. Daddy AGAIN saying that we shouldn't have put negative, that it should have been "Neutral." Mr. Daddy said "Well, I didn't have a NEUTRAL reaction when I smelled the cigarette smoke!" Actually, he just blocked her so he doesn't have to get any more emails from her!