We don't know what it is causing our basement floor to disintegrate but it has to be stopped. I am not going to speculate publicly yet, but that title was too good not to use.
Most of the conversation today concerned the house falling over into a swamp. My mother called to wish me a happy birthday, and I was content to listen for the ninetieth time about how buying a rose bush from disease-free stock is so worth the money and how long she's wanted a magnolia bush and exactly how they're going continually the amend their soil to keep their hydrangea blue and also how they have a store of a toxin that's apparently now illegal but which they use with impunity. My father called to wish me a happy birthday, and I told him about the swamp and heard about his cucumbers and tomatoes and in-laws (the last of which he is not growing nor perhaps even cultivating). My sister called to wish me a happy birthday and we debated whose fat is more attractive (she thinks she's fatter than me now, which I doubt, but her spongey bits have always been more appealingly arranged) and bemoaned the lack of decent television of a Sunday afternoon and swapped pet stories.