When I purchased House the Sequel, it had a heated above-ground pool. I had no interest in a heated above-ground pool. It would draw excess power. It would sit there, glum and accusatory, when I failed to use it. It would demand chemicals, when I could be spending money on books instead. And so, I told the owner to take the pool with him.
I have come to the conclusion that House the Sequel feels bereft of its pool. More to the point, House the Sequel is compensating for this deeply traumatic loss. Evidence:
a) House the Sequel has hot water heating. The boiler, which turned out to be older than represented, proceeded to implode in slow and agonizing ways. In its final days, the noises it made while it attempted to get water through the pipes sounded like a Kraken rising from the deep; the sloshes, glugs, and gurgles were so loud that I expected to find an ark with pairs of animals wafting through my living room.
In retrospect, this was the first sign that House the Sequel missed the pool. Despite being an English profesor, I failed to decode the obvious symbolic import of the aforementioned sloshes, glugs, and gurgles. And so, House the Sequel took more direct action.
b) While the boiler was on the fritz, the contractor installed my pretty hardwood flooring. Hardwood flooring requires nails. Three nails went right through...a heating pipe concealed underneath the step that camouflages the missing baseboard where the family room used to end. Once I had a functional boiler, needless to say, I also had water pressure. And so, I had water. Coming in under a laminate floor. Which now has to be replaced. (For which I'm not paying, incidentally.)
This was clearly the second sign that House the Sequel was yearning (like a god in pain?) for its missing pool. Yet again, I obstinately refused to get the point.
c) Wednesday night, I went into the basement to put away some stuff from House the Original. Whereupon I noticed water. Water, water, everywhere, when the water should only have been in water pipes. One slightly hysterical phone call later, I acquired a plumber, who pointed out that my sump pump was now more of a stump pump. (Or an unpump.)
Did I mention that the previous owners had left carpeting down there?
At this point, I believe that the answer is all too clear. The house deliberately sabotaged the sump pump so that it could welcome in all the water it so patently missed. I admit it! I was remiss! I failed to take the house's feelings into account!
(Either that, or I'm just having a run of bad luck.)