When I rented the house in Stowe, euphemisms abounded, cute, cozy, quaint. The house had a fresh mantle of snow covering the roof, icicles hanging from the eaves, a plume of smoke from the chimney. It oozed charm. Enough for me to overlook the opposites, ramshackle, rundown, unkempt, a tad dirty.
Nothing some elbow grease couldn’t fix, some nice rugs on the floor and a clean smell.
It looked for all intenets and purposes like a Gingerbread House.
The snow melted and suddenly without the icicle jewelry and the clean blanket of snow it took on its true form, euphemism free, frankly it looked more like a Vermont Crack House! Well at least what I would imagine one looks like!
So hence forth the bailout house is the Gingerbread Crack House.
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