So recently I have started reading the Witchless in Seattle series by Dakota Cassidy. They are cheerfully ridiculous novels that are just right for my current state of mind. I read to de-stress, I am not emotionally up for anything heavy or with too many surprises, and re-reading a favorite isn’t engaging enough to keep the circling thoughts at bay. I also don’t have time to get sucked into anything seriously engaging that will eat up all my brain space. Enter, Witch Slapped, which I got for free, and the following books. The funny thing about them, however, is they are full of all sorts of improbable things which I am perfectly willing to believe in—except one.
Occasional teleporting, lightning zapping, or ghost pigs? Totally on board.
Spy ghost that forges his own will after his death? Love it.
Talking bat that poses as a virtual assistant? Where do I get one?
But what can I NOT get on board for? What absolutely goes beyond the bounds of credulity into “you have got to be kidding me” territory?
In the books she inherits a house that is basically falling down around her ears, and in a mere matter of months is transformed into a gleaming showcase of a mansion home worthy of gracing an improbable decorating magazine cover.
What kind of insanity is this?
I don’t care how much money is involved, there are still mishaps and shortages and things that go sideways and there is NO WAY that that I am going to believe that you can beautifully remodel an entire house while living in it in a matter of a few months. Certainly not while commissioning custom pieces. Money can only do so much. Talking to spirits of the dead is a reasonable thing. Expecting construction miracles? Pure delusion.
In my experience construction goes something like this:
Depending on the piece of the project, it could be worse. Once every decade or so something will go beautifully fast, easy, and inexpensive. This is so the universe can make sure the normal course of things feels that much worse, “because that one time…”
On top of which, while she occasionally gets disturbed, she remains upbeat and cheerful during the entire renovation process.
I hate my husband when construction is in process. Perhaps loath would be a better word. Since I am married to a man who continually tears parts of my house down around my ears every summer without fail, as well as at random other intervals besides (because why should we limit ourselves?), this doesn’t say much for our relationship.
My husband claims I am hard to understand, despite my using all my crystal clear words. So I made him this handy chart so he could understand where his affection-rating was at any given time:
I promised to love and support him in sickness and in health. I did NOT promise to love or support him in any construction endeavors whatever. Frankly, I feel betrayed that he did not reveal this heinous flaw in his character before I said, “I do”.
Therefore, I have abandoned the Witchless in Seattle mysteries half-way through do to the inability to cope with such a completely improbable construction story arch and I am on to something a little more believable. A speakeasy run by a witch, with panther shifters, vampires, and other perfectly believable things.
For anyone who made it this far and is still reading, I offer you this image of my new cat painting which is in no way whatever related to construction or this post.