I was joking nearly nine years ago when I called us the apartment building kiss of death, but my god, it feels like every place we’ve lived in has had a big ol’ fire in it. Sure, the fires happen mostly after we’re gone, but still.
We’ll start with the fire in the first building where we lived. That was a whole pile of no fun. We were lucky, and aside from some false alarms, we didn’t have any other fires in that building.
Then, several years after we had been out of that building, it had a great big fire on the same floor where we used to live. Try as we might, we can’t find any traces of news on that fire, which is weird. But I know we didn’t imagine it.
Then we left the next building and moved to Kitchener, and…what’s that? A fire? On the floor where we used to live? Yup, a couple of doors down.
Now, last week, I read about this doozer of a fire that broke out in the building where I lived next to Stupidhead and Ditz O Matic. Wow, that’s a fire. I know someone who was in that building when the fire happened, and she still can’t go back.
Now, if I find out that the place where Steve used to live during that time burned down…I’ll be really scared. But at least the super bad fires seem to wait until after we’re gone.
All joking aside, I really hope they can rebuild this last one, it sounded pretty catastrophic.