New Old Home Angst: Don't Look in There Edition

 

So, Cookie and the husband have crossed over the shock, surprise, and expense of the sewer repair, and onto better things. Or are we?

What would Mona Plash say?

The other day, husband was working in the basement when it ventured into the glorified crawl space that is the room under the original kitchen of this house. Moving about, he looked high and low, and then backed into one of these CFL bulbs that everyone hates. 

Well, crash-tinkle the bulb broke and shards of glass went everywhere.   I was able to get the vac with the HEPA filter and vacuum him up, he took off his clothes and I washed them (twice) and sent him up to the bathroom to shower.

Yesterday, the husband went back into the room to clean it up.  And while he was down there he also cleaned out the nasty, filthy garbage left behind by the previous owners who refused to come back to the house after they moved to clean up the mess they left. 

There was a nasty memory foam pillow, bits of broken this, that, and everything, a child's crib mattress, and assorted detritus or life left behind by the nastiest people in the world.  Even Babs Johnson wouldn't want these folks around. 

Then he came across a very nice black zippered bag.  And he opened it. 

Oh, what, WHAT, could this be?

Alas, there were no piles of real cash or even counterfeited cash. Nor was there anything illegal, immoral, or otherwise prohibited by law.  No, it was something else altogether different than anything we ever imagined. 

Now before I go on, Husband is a stand-up guy.  Quiet, and respectful, and this sent him into a state of shock.

"Honey," he called up the stairs, "would you mind coming down here for a minute."

So Cookie went down the stairs, into the Hobbit hut of a room, and there I saw it. 

Now before I tell you what I saw, I will say that even Cookie was a bit taken aback.   Even the husband said "I thought it was a breast pump." No, not that kind of milking.

I have owned four homes, and I never, ever had a previous owner leave something like this before.  

And if I had such a case - and it was very nice - I would pack this first and want to know where it was at all times. 

These were, eh hem, personal items. 

"Was it a dildo," our neighbor asked?

No, not a dildo.  

It was a dildo bonanza. Every color shape and size. 

And yes, I pulled each one out. One at a time. 

And there was more. Much, much more.
Not pictured the rest of the toys in the case.

It was like someone cleared at your local Adult Mart. They were pink and purple - both sparkled - and a couple were silver. There was a very large fleshlight with an anus opening. And it had an extra sleeve, and no, I did not look inside.  There were cheap handcuffs and beginner restraints. And bottles of lube. There was a prostate massager, or two.  There were cock rings, of the silicone variety.  No steel, no real leather.  Oh, yes - a silicone cap to place over the head of one-eyed willy with a cup to receive a big vibrator head. There were purse vibrators as well.  And nipple suction cups, too.  

And that was just the first three-quarters of it. There wasn't enough room to unload the whole case. 

And let's not forget the anal chakra wand.

And Cookie could not stop laughing. 

I mean if it were "their" toys it wouldn't have been in their boudoir? 

But these were hidden. These were tucked away under the castaways of life.  As if one didn't want the other to find them. 

I asked my realtor what was the oddest thing anyone left behind in her personal experience. "A cat.  Which is now our cat.  Why? What did you find?"

When I told her, there was a gasp. "No! Really?"

Yup. 

It looks like the case was originally for a CPAP machine.  There were instructions. Someone just found a better use for the bag.

So now we have to figure out what to do with these.  The husband wanted to toss them, but I said, let's wait. Gawd knows we don't want them, but let's not be too hasty. 

One friend said to ship it to them.  Just box it up and ship it.   No, that's the type of thing that can end up in front of a magistrate for harassment.  

One friend said to toss them. "You do not want to be the real reason why their marriage fails."  A point well taken. Why would I want to break up a marriage? That's their job, not mine.

Another friend suggested, "Call that excuse for a seller's agent and tell her you found this bag with some personal items, and well, do they want it back?"  Now that was delicious. 

But Cookie is taking another tact. I am not going to call them. Because I know that the one who hid the bag, and is missing that bag, is on edge wondering "Where did that bag go?"  He is wondering if we have found the bag, who else knows about the bag, and will his wife find out.  He knows that we know about what he likes, and what he is experimenting with.   And that is driving him bonkers. 

Sometimes the best course of action is to do nothing, and just let them twist in the wind.  Self-doubt for the stunts they pulled on us is the best repayment yet.