Not sure what I hope to gain from this but maybe there will be some clarity to gain from an objective opinion. That being said I will prob delete this later- but while I’m here I will try to be as detailed and neutral to the facts as I can be, but there is a lot of history in a 15 year relationship so get ready to read a small book. I M33, grew up in an abusive and poverty stricken home, naturally I escaped that situation as soon as I could (after high school in 2008) my parents would explode over the littlest thing- like the first time I recall thinking I could not rely on my dad was after witnessing him beat my sister to a pulp, and then threaten me about telling (I never did) over her bedroom being filthy. Now, between high school and meeting my now wife F34 I was in a committed long distance relationship. Not to dwell here as it has little to do with the story, that relationship ended Dec 1 2009, I made my way to a small college town and found a place to stay with a few friends I knew from high school. This could only be described as a party house that a few poor and brave folks lived. The rent was cheap and the people were good. Not to mention, it was easy to drowned my feeling with drugs and alcohol here and not be judged. This was right after the 2008 financial crisis and I had found employment delivering for a local restaurant, and was not interested in starting a new relationship. Well mid way through December one roommate decided he was moving out, which left a room open for rent. This is where I met who, at least at one point was the love of my life. Jen F34 was a recent college graduate, who comes from, what I would consider a well off family. Jen was part of some drama with her old roommates and decided she would move in. She had been accepted into a work training program that would send her to a new state 15 hours away, so she was also not interested in a serious relationship. Jen was seeing someone we will call Mark. Mark and Jen we in a non-serious sexual relationship. The moment I saw Jen something inside me said i want to be with her, but I was still fighting demons from my failed relationship. So I hung around her and was content just being a friend..well this goes on for about a month..before it happened. One drunk night and I am waking up, naked next to her..she was still seeing Mark at that point, and I had no idea what I had done. She broke it off with mark a few days later and I took his spot. As a non-serious sexual partner, well the months flew by then all of a sudden we both had caught feelings. We had finally agreed we would only see each other. Well one day I come home from work and she is cuddled up next to a guy we will call Adam. I was devastated. I confronted her and she played it off as nothing. Just passed out and woke up and he was next to her, I had my doubts but in the end believed her and forgot about it. As things got more and more serious the dread of her moving day was inching closer. We both were bothered by this. She wanted to stay, I said no. I eventually agreed I’d move to her after her training program. (She had to stay on a company campus for 3 months for training) during this time we were long distance- I worked my ass off to get ready for a cross country move and she was getting a place ready for us to live. During this time she went out with “friends” and said she would call me after. 2 am nothing, 3 nothing 4 I’m worried sick and finally fell asleep around 4:15am. My phone goes off at 5am. She calls me incoherent and making 0 sense. I thought again she may have cheated on me but again no evidence- said she got a bit to drunk and stayed out too late. I again believed her. I was able to forgive and get over it- I’m not the type to stress over anything that’s not life changing so moving day arrives. I get all my stuff in order jump on the greyhound and start my journey. Dying inside to finally see my women again, well 22 hours later I arrived. She was supposed to be there to pick me up but she was no where to be found. I text and called, she finally answered and was very short with me, and pulled up a short while later. As soon as I got in the car she was mad. Telling me I should not have come, it was a mistake etc. we get to the apartment and I’m feeling like a sucker for being there, we have some food and she apologized for her actions in the car and we moved forward. Well the next almost two years of our relationship was amazing- epic sex life, passionate about each other the whole 9. Some minor drunk arguments here and there but nothing crazy. I consider this the best time of my life. Around 3 years in our relationship we got pregnant. Over those 9 months we were closer than ever. Excited to bring a beautiful baby into to this world, scared beyond words but happy. Then one day she was in pain and pretty sure she was in labor. We get to the hospital and thus starts one of the most traumatizing experiences for her. Extended labor time, breach baby, intense pain and anxiety followed by a c-section, and a multi-night stay in the hospital. Then a long recovery process. Needless to say being young, broke, new parents is probably the hardest thing I have ever experienced and can admit that experience must have been even worse for her and while life as new parents took hold she grew into a nurturing mother while I regressed. I was over worked, underpaid, stressed out and took what was a minor drinking habit to an excessive drinking habit. This was the start of a long line of huge fights, financial problems, and ultimately leads us to know. chewing on the idea of divorce. But before I get to now, let’s do a quick life recap. My wife and I are living together with our newborn, isolated from friends and family, I’m quickly drinking more and more. I worked an over night labor job, and Jen was still working for the same company. But more of an 8 - 5 we only saw each other in passing most days. Our blessing was colic and cried constantly. We both began to feel like we needed to be close to friends so we packed up and move back after her contacted ended a year later. Back to the small sleepy college town we met. We moved back, our kiddo was 1, things were looking up, I had gotten a day job- our kiddo was finally sleeping better, really it seemed good. But since her c-section a year prior, we had only managed to have sex a few times. I thought this would be the change we could to finally revive our bedroom life. But it hardly changed, add a few more times to the few mentioned before. We went from daily to basically none, not to mention we would constantly fight about things that need to be done, money, etc. I’ll admit I did not do my part of house work. So things are starting to fall apart- I’m still drinking heavily, our bedroom was on life support and I fucked up and started watching porn, browsing sites akin to tinder. I have to say I never actually hooked up with anyone but I did get some photos sent to me. Not my proudest moment. Well I arrived home from work and Jen had found said communications and browsing history and was rightfully mad. After a week or so staying with a friend and she allows me to apologize , I assured her it was nothing more than digital and explained how I felt about our sex life, or lack of one specifically. Things kind of improved for a bit, I stopped drinking, we were being intimate, we got married, she quit working and went for a graduate degree, I had found more gainful employment. until one day Jen noticed something new on my body.. a wart to be specific. At some point I contacted HPV. Which then made me look like a liar. (I since found out it was a girl i had a one night stand with shortly before my prior relationship. (Common friend told me years later))but I had no explanation or evidence to prove my infidelity was not physical. Well after this happened things got bad, really bad. I started drinking heavily again, right into financial ruin. We were broke, rent due, hungry baby, relationship just about dead. 0 bedroom life. I never said I was the good guy here. Just trying to be honest about our past. So we need cash quick so we don’t fall behind on bills, it is eventually decided she will strip for cash until we can get out of the hole I dug us. I’m pretty insecure but we had no other choice. I was handling it pretty well, until I noticed something in her attitude. She would get home and try to initiate sex with me. It was welcome but odd- till this point we had a half dead bedroom for years. I pried it out of her that stripping turned her on and instantly felt disgust. I lost it on her, how could she- come home and fuck me smelling like alcohol and bathroom cologne. Can’t fuck them at the club easily so come home and pretend I’m someone that turns you on. Had we not had issues overall in the bedroom I would not have felt this way but this made me feel gross, betrayed, guilty, angry. She obviously is mad at me since it’s my fault she was there. We had a fight and somewhat made up. Bedroom life was slow, life went on, things are pretty crappy and one night she goes out with a friend and shows up back at our place, hammered, with a guy from the bar. Our child was asleep in the room and that man is lucky I did not shoot him. She claims he was her friends stray but she let a stranger come to OUR HOUSE. Well at this point, i was mad but eventually just got over it. Life moved on we came out of the financial hole moved to a nicer place and began work towards saving for a home. She was still stripping on and off to help save. Well then she actually cheated on me, with another girl I front of a group of guys for money. I’m died inside at this point. I fell back to drinking heavily, again sexually all but dead. I basically repressed it and allowed her to get off easy (when she found my digital infidelity years prior I had to stay with a friend for a week) over this time, things are quite- status quo- saving for our first home. After some time like this I got a new job- and we could finally purchase. So we did- just before the pandemic. Our bedroom was basically dead- only initiated by me, was pretty one sided and seemed like she was just doing it to appease me. Constantly fighting of little things like chores (if I did not do them exactly the way or time she wanted it done WW3 would break out) but we managed. The the pandemic happened. We decided we would move closer to her family so we could have some support and hopefully work on us. We were able to live with her family for the next 1.5ish years. I only recall having sex twice during this time. (Could have been more but like I said I’m still drinking at this point) we bicker constantly during this time. Mind you all I am slowly at this dying on the inside this whole time. We had a major blow up in front of everyone a few days prior to closing. Stemming from myself feeling generally put out. Stick in a sexless marriage and the fact that I had a work thing in Vegas for a week. We sign - I leave for Vegas- she organizes the movers and get everything in. We have our own space again. Now we are almost to the present day. I again found new employment and have a high stress, high 6 figure salary career we have had many of fights due to chores, and household duties etc. she was convinced it was due to alcohol so I finally quit drinking for good. The goal was to hopefully fix this relationship, have a more intimate bedroom. In fact this was agreed upon when I quit. Some of the other things that have been said in these arguments was that she is working and trying to find better work so she can financially afford to leave me. She currently works on a “less than part time” contract work type stuff but is basically is a SAHM. I pay 100% of everything. This is now 6 months after I stopped drinking and there has been no change in our bedroom life. 3.5 weeks ago: I calm Loy state that I thought we agreed on the spicing up the bedroom with more frequently maybe some lingerie. I am getting a bit frustrated with this. Her: I just started my period but I hear you. A week goes by period done still nothing. 2 weeks ago Friday: we are sitting on the couch. I am feeling very much frustrated sexually. We are watching tv together, and I make a comment about one of the people. Here is what happened : Person on TV while crying “I recently found out my body produces excess estrogen” me: must be why you’re so emotional. Her: you’re a sexist pig, a misogynist, thats a misnomer and actually testosterone does that and so many other things I forget them all but that was the gist. Just offended. I apologized and said it was just a dumb comment. Somewhat calmed down but the energy was thick. Then I made my second mistake: a morbidly obese person came on screen wearing a sold color onesie. I muttered : dude looks like a bowling ball. And that was it- I’m a disgusting pig and she is going to bed. I sleep on the couch that night seething that again no sex, again random attacks against my character, again using something like a comment about a person on screen to go to bed. Saturday: my kiddo sees me on the couch, asks “dad can you make me an omelet.” Me still upset with how the night ended with my wife- complained about not wanting to make it- and eventually agreed. While cooking breakfast - wife comes downstairs and immediately starts in on me, ignoring my advances for a hug, telling me i need to walk the dog because she doesn’t have time. I also needed to run an errand before the kiddos sports ball game. I told her kind of angrily I had shit to do as well and what is preventing her from doing it. Well she does, things are quiet, we get to the game and we are sitting there. She brings up the comments of the night before and started this whole thing in public. Trying to get me to lose my temper in public. I was able to ignore it and just finish the game. Pushed all that down and was ready to move on. We get home from the day’s activities and she does what she always does says good night to the kiddo and gets ready for bed. Again I sleep on the couch. Sunday: she wakes up and starts cleaning, I try to be nice again- making advances to hug her, kiss her etc. I walked the doggo, not asked to do so- kiddo asks me to cook some food again so I do. No complaint, but while I’m cooking she makes another comment about my character. And brings up Friday again. I lost it: I was screaming at her like I never have before. Told her I wanted a divorce, that she clearly doesn’t want this it’s why she can’t even pretend to want me sexually and that I am nothing more than an ATM for her at this point. The rest of Sunday and Monday was silent. This is when I started this novel of a post. Finally she apologized and admitted to being cold to me, promised to work on this. Tuesday, best sex we have had in a decade, Wednesday, repeat action, Thursday a 3rd time. This past Friday- I was spent this was more sex than I had in a row in years. I was happy. Saturday, family members bday and another sports game. All day gone- everything good. We get home late- she is tired no problems. Sunday Mothers Day. We had plans with her family to do some hiking the first part of the day then have lunch and play a game. Everything is going fine. It starts to get around 3:00 pm and I tell her I am ready to go home. She said we have not played the game and that she wanted to. So I agree- we play a few rounds and during the game she could see that I was getting annoyed that we had to play another round I was not being rude but just not enthusiastic about ti. She looked at me and said I need to check myself. The way she said it, the fact she said it at the table so everyone could hear. I felt disrespected, we left and argued a little but I ended up saying sorry because ok I get it my fault. So we get home and she comes into my office space (which was dirty) glasses, and tons of boxes /other recycling that had not be taken care of. She told me to do it I agreed it was gross and started picking up. She kept on about how I’m disgusting for leaving it in the first place- etc I calmly asked her to just leave it alone and drop it, I’d take care of it but she didnt after 10 mins of her spewing on me I finally lost it and told her to get the fuck out of my office if she doesn’t like it. That I’m tired of the hostility and it’s clear she didn’t actually want to fix this. She kept asking me to lower my volume while telling me why she is right, brining up everything from the prior week. I did not lower my volume I got louder and more upset till she goes to bed and I sleep on the couch again. Monday: we argue more. The general mood is “how could I blow up on her on Mother’s Day.” That she is done etc. as soon as she can financially leave she will. I said why wait and asked her to stay with her mother for a few days- she refused to, so I left to a hotel room. Today was more of the same: not accepting that she had a part in the argument. That I just freaked out over her asking me to clean up. We have eventually agreed to give therapy a shot but here I sit, in my hotel room. Contemplating life I can’t help but feel we gave it our best but we were doomed to fail. I really don’t want to lose my family. but neither of us can take the current state anymore. What does the world of Reddit think?

Debit/Credit Cards Accepted No Closing Costs Cash Price: $1,175 Finance with $200 Down and 12 Payments of $105 Per Month No Credit Check, No Income Documentation, No Prepayment Penalty 

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

I naturally fell into babysitting around the age of 14. Through friends and family, I got leads for babysitting to score some cash, which definitely beat having to work at a restaurant. The job had its ups and downs, but overall it wasn’t a bad gig at all.
Yet, as many good experiences as I had, they were all eclipsed by one night.
A new family in town talked to my dad at work and it turned out that they needed a babysitter. I happily took the job and found myself watching their 10-year old boy a couple of weeks later. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the family themselves. They were the model citizens of suburban America, complete with the white picket fence and blue shutters. Nothing about their house was strange or even unique. Their son Avery was very mild-mannered and polite. Even their car was basic. Not that these were bad things, but I expected it to be a very boring night.
What I did not expect was the uncomfortable, inexplicable feeling that I got when I set foot in the house. A chill ran through me, but there was no draft. I rubbed my arms as I gazed at their staircase as we passed. They gave me a brief tour of the house before they left a note of instructions and all the usual information I expected from a job.
While trying to figure out what was making me so uneasy about the place, I noticed something about their basement door when I passed it. A padlock was placed on the door, along with a deadbolt in place.
"Any questions?” The father asked as my mind was pulled out of my curiosity.
"No, sir. Everything looks great!”
So they left and Avery and I played some games before I made dinner. A couple of times, I thought I heard Avery call me into the den. Both times, I found him sitting on the couch in what most recognize as the TV-zombie state. He denied having called me, and I went back to making dinner. After the third time, I told Avery it wasn’t funny and that he should stop.
“I’m not doing anything, I’m just watching TV!”
His voice went to that higher tone of pleading, sounding desperate for me to believe him.
“Avery, I know it’s my first time and sometimes you wanna test things out, but I’m trying to get dinner ready so if you call me again, I’m not checking on you, okay?”
“I didn't say anything.”
The child glared at the TV with a pouting face, and I began to feel bad. As many times as I’ve heard lies, I was starting to sense that he was telling the truth. So what was I hearing?
“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not mad. Promise.”
Avery turned his head back towards me, seeming to test if I was the one fibbing now.
“How about I let you stay up a little later if we forget about it?”
“Do you really promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
With our contractual pinkies interlocked, spirits were raised again and I was able to finish dinner. Although I didn’t finish without hearing Avery’s voice calling me once more. I ignored it, and when Avery didn’t mention it at dinner I figured it was him fooling around again. The whole time we chatted as we ate, I couldn’t help but feel that something was not right about this house.
As hard as I tried to not look, my eyes kept diverting to the heavy padlock and chain on the basement door. Curiosity got the best of me and as we were cleaning up, I couldn’t help but ask.
“So Avery, what’s the deal with the basement door?”
“What do you mean?”
His words did not match his demeanor. It was obvious he didn’t make eye contact as he forced his sentence out.
“C’mon, you know what I mean. The padlock, chain, and deadbolt. Y’all have dangerous chemicals down there?”
Avery’s face grew paler and he stared at the wall for a moment.
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to…”
“Dad said no one can talk about it anymore.”
This really threw me off, and I couldn’t possibly finish my sentence now. A thick veil of tension materialized between us.
“So you…you guys aren’t allowed to talk about it?”
Avery shook his head.
“Ah, okay. That’s cool. No big deal.”
It was nothing but a big deal.
Was their dad doing something illegal down there? Or was it something strange that no one could do anything about it? Maybe their dad was in denial about something going on. There were waaaaaay too many questions going through my head now.
“Hey, how about we put on a movie?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What am I saying? Everyone likes movies, right?!”
Now excited, we decided on a fun movie that quickly pulled our minds away from the mysterious basement door. Well, that’s not entirely true. Maybe Avery was distracted, but it was killing me. As we ate popcorn, I couldn’t help but watch Avery, wondering what was going on in that little head of his.
Was there something awful going on in the house and there was nothing I could do to stop it? Or maybe the dad was just…
“Stop,” I told myself inwardly.
Mulling over it all endlessly was not doing myself any favors.
So the movie ended, and I ushered the drifting child to his bed. Now, the house was all to myself until twelve, so I had a good three and a half hours to myself. Immediately, I began texting my friend to tell her all about the weird experience I was having that night. She dismissed it, saying that I was getting spooked by a new place. This annoyed me to no end. I’d been at bigger, way creepier-looking houses but never got weird vibes like this.
Then…I heard it.
“Stephanie…..”
I went instantly still and listened intently.
“You didn’t hear that, Steph. Just keep texting your friend and…”
“Stephanieeeee…”
There was no mistaking it this time. It was definitely coming from the basement.
The acoustics couldn’t have been from Avery upstairs. The voice sounded like a little girl’s. In fact, I’m not even sure he could make his voice like that, anyway.
Slowly, I stood up from the couch and approached the door. Maybe like earlier, I was just hearing things. Maybe being creeped out by the house was starting to mess with my head. That made sense…right?
“Stephanie?”
I jumped back from the door, almost wetting myself in the process. There was no way I could dismiss it as anything else now. There was a little girl’s voice coming from the basement.
“H-hello?” I responded.
I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking.
“Is this Stephanie?”
“Y-yes, it’s Stephanie.”
“Can you help me?”
“Who are you? Why are you locked in the basement?”
“My name is Meredith Rosenberg. They’re kept me locked up for a long time now. The police were almost on to them and that’s why they moved. Can you get me out?”
A cold shock washed over me and made it hard to respond. Was I actually babysitting for a family that kept a little girl prisoner?
“Oh my God…um….how long have you been locked up with them?”
“Ever since I can remember.”
I felt somehow hot and cold at the same time, and wanted to throw up. This all made sense now with what Avery had told me. Of course his father didn’t want him talking about the door…
“I just need to find the keys and I can…”
“They’re hidden in the garage underneath the metal shelf. It’s inside a magnetic key holder.”
“Okay, just hold tight.”
In a panic to free the poor girl, I darted into the garage and began feeling the space underneath the bottom shelf and sure enough, there was a magnetic key holder there. Running back, I popped the key holder open and began to insert the key into the padlock.
“Did you find it?”
“Yes, sweetie. I’m almost there!”
“Oh, please hurry! Sometimes they come home early!”
This sent me into even more of a rush, and I barely managed to fumble the key into the padlock. I finally heard the successful click of the padlock, pulled the chain off, and slid the deadbolt to the right.
“I’m coming, Meredith. Hold on!”
I turned the doorknob and threw open the door, only to be met with darkness. Now full of adrenaline, my hands felt around for the light switch. Finally finding my purchase, I flicked the light on which lit up most of the stairs.
“Meredith?” I called out.
Unless I was remembering it wrong, it sounded like her voice was just on the other side of the door a minute ago. In fact, it was quite strange that she wasn’t waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Wouldn’t you immediately run out of a basement that you were locked in for God knows how long?
“I’m down here!” The little girl’s voice called out.
Judging from the distance, it sounded like she was calling from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs. My brain suddenly began piecing all the details of this interaction together and the idea of going down into the basement became absolutely terrifying.
“Meredith, you can come up now! The door’s open!”
I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. Why I was scared of a little girl was beyond me, but much like the house itself, something felt very wrong here.
“I hurt my leg, owww! When you said you were getting the key, I went back down to get some of my things and got hurt. Ahhh….”
Her sounds of pain filled me with sorrow, but an invisible force was holding me back from taking another step into that basement.
“Can you move? Maybe pull yourself up on the railing?”
“I can’t! It hurts too bad!”
“Okay, sweetie umm…”
“What’s wrong? Won’t you help me?”
“I-I it’s just…really dark down there and…and I don’t want to get hurt too. Is there any way you can get to the stairs? Any way at all?”
“I tried to sit up, but my shoulder hurts too much.”
“I thought you said your leg got hurt?”
The words hung in the air like a noose. It was only after I said it that I realized there was several things seriously wrong about all of this. A question popped into my head I didn’t even have time to think about until now.
How did she know where the padlock key was?
A deathly silence took up the space between me and wherever this girl was. It was a standoff, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. There were questions I could ask her to figure out what was happening, but I felt that her answers weren’t going to be honest. Perhaps at this point, the truth was too frightful to know.
"Meredith? Are you still there?"
It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing my mind could conjure. The additional silence only unnerved me, so I decided to try and get a better look. Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I clicked on the flashlight. It didn’t do me any good because of the awful range, so I did the one thing I’d already told myself not to do…
I took a step forward...
Maybe it was the angle of the stairs or the lighting, but that one step gave me more information than I ever wanted to know. I caught a better view of the bottom step, which was essentially a ledge into a black abyss. Something looked different on this step, but it took a second to register what it was.
The step was wet, a pool of some unknown liquid overflowing into the darkness of the basement. I knew for sure that the father hadn’t mentioned any flooding so it would be way too random for that. So I stood there, watching in frozen curiosity as the puddle then suddenly rippled…and I realized the abominable truth.
It wasn’t water.
It was a puddle of saliva…and something was drooling into it from the dark.
A wretched chuckle emanated from the horrid void beyond the step, and it cemented me even further into place. It was a wet chortle, and positively evil.
“How did you like my voices?” The thing said from the dark. “I’ve been practicing."
The epiphany creeped down my spine…it was now talking in Avery’s voice. Everything in my body screamed at me to run. I heard the screams but I couldn’t respond no matter how hard I tried.
"A pity though…almost got you."
At this, the most gruesome face peeled back the shadows and revealed itself, along with its unearthly mandibles and small fountain of saliva. My faculties finally came to and I threw myself into the house and kicked the door closed. In mere seconds, I had the door bolted and chained. Leaning against the door, my chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath.
Just as I felt I was safe, the door shuddered as a terrible blow rocked it. I screamed and ran upstairs to grab Avery.
I practically dragged the poor kid out the door and called the police. It wasn’t until the operator came on that I realized I was about to report a monster in the house. Thinking quickly, I told them that I heard a burglar in the home.
It wasn’t long before the police and Avery’s parents came home. Nothing was found, even in the basement, but I didn’t even care at that point. I just wanted the hell out of that house and away from whatever that….thing was. Avery’s parents kept glancing at me funny the whole time, probably because they knew I had their basement key. I shoved it into their hands before I hugged Avery and got into my car to drive home. That poor kid has to live in that house with that thing, but there was nothing I could do about it.
As long as I am alive, I will never….ever set foot in that house again.
And as for basements go, I can't go into them anymore. I just simply can't...

I naturally fell into babysitting around the age of 14. Through friends and family, I got leads for babysitting to score some cash, which definitely beat having to work at a restaurant. The job had its ups and downs, but overall it wasn’t a bad gig at all.
Yet, as many good experiences as I had, they were all eclipsed by one night.
A new family in town talked to my dad at work and it turned out that they needed a babysitter. I happily took the job and found myself watching their 10-year old boy a couple of weeks later. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the family themselves. They were the model citizens of suburban America, complete with the white picket fence and blue shutters. Nothing about their house was strange or even unique. Their son Avery was very mild-mannered and polite. Even their car was basic. Not that these were bad things, but I expected it to be a very boring night.
What I did not expect was the uncomfortable, inexplicable feeling that I got when I set foot in the house. A chill ran through me, but there was no draft. I rubbed my arms as I gazed at their staircase as we passed. They gave me a brief tour of the house before they left a note of instructions and all the usual information I expected from a job.
While trying to figure out what was making me so uneasy about the place, I noticed something about their basement door when I passed it. A padlock was placed on the door, along with a deadbolt in place.
"Any questions?” The father asked as my mind was pulled out of my curiosity.
"No, sir. Everything looks great!”
So they left and Avery and I played some games before I made dinner. A couple of times, I thought I heard Avery call me into the den. Both times, I found him sitting on the couch in what most recognize as the TV-zombie state. He denied having called me, and I went back to making dinner. After the third time, I told Avery it wasn’t funny and that he should stop.
“I’m not doing anything, I’m just watching TV!”
His voice went to that higher tone of pleading, sounding desperate for me to believe him.
“Avery, I know it’s my first time and sometimes you wanna test things out, but I’m trying to get dinner ready so if you call me again, I’m not checking on you, okay?”
“I didn't say anything.”
The child glared at the TV with a pouting face, and I began to feel bad. As many times as I’ve heard lies, I was starting to sense that he was telling the truth. So what was I hearing?
“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not mad. Promise.”
Avery turned his head back towards me, seeming to test if I was the one fibbing now.
“How about I let you stay up a little later if we forget about it?”
“Do you really promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
With our contractual pinkies interlocked, spirits were raised again and I was able to finish dinner. Although I didn’t finish without hearing Avery’s voice calling me once more. I ignored it, and when Avery didn’t mention it at dinner I figured it was him fooling around again. The whole time we chatted as we ate, I couldn’t help but feel that something was not right about this house.
As hard as I tried to not look, my eyes kept diverting to the heavy padlock and chain on the basement door. Curiosity got the best of me and as we were cleaning up, I couldn’t help but ask.
“So Avery, what’s the deal with the basement door?”
“What do you mean?”
His words did not match his demeanor. It was obvious he didn’t make eye contact as he forced his sentence out.
“C’mon, you know what I mean. The padlock, chain, and deadbolt. Y’all have dangerous chemicals down there?”
Avery’s face grew paler and he stared at the wall for a moment.
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to…”
“Dad said no one can talk about it anymore.”
This really threw me off, and I couldn’t possibly finish my sentence now. A thick veil of tension materialized between us.
“So you…you guys aren’t allowed to talk about it?”
Avery shook his head.
“Ah, okay. That’s cool. No big deal.”
It was nothing but a big deal.
Was their dad doing something illegal down there? Or was it something strange that no one could do anything about it? Maybe their dad was in denial about something going on. There were waaaaaay too many questions going through my head now.
“Hey, how about we put on a movie?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What am I saying? Everyone likes movies, right?!”
Now excited, we decided on a fun movie that quickly pulled our minds away from the mysterious basement door. Well, that’s not entirely true. Maybe Avery was distracted, but it was killing me. As we ate popcorn, I couldn’t help but watch Avery, wondering what was going on in that little head of his.
Was there something awful going on in the house and there was nothing I could do to stop it? Or maybe the dad was just…
“Stop,” I told myself inwardly.
Mulling over it all endlessly was not doing myself any favors.
So the movie ended, and I ushered the drifting child to his bed. Now, the house was all to myself until twelve, so I had a good three and a half hours to myself. Immediately, I began texting my friend to tell her all about the weird experience I was having that night. She dismissed it, saying that I was getting spooked by a new place. This annoyed me to no end. I’d been at bigger, way creepier-looking houses but never got weird vibes like this.
Then…I heard it.
“Stephanie…..”
I went instantly still and listened intently.
“You didn’t hear that, Steph. Just keep texting your friend and…”
“Stephanieeeee…”
There was no mistaking it this time. It was definitely coming from the basement.
The acoustics couldn’t have been from Avery upstairs. The voice sounded like a little girl’s. In fact, I’m not even sure he could make his voice like that, anyway.
Slowly, I stood up from the couch and approached the door. Maybe like earlier, I was just hearing things. Maybe being creeped out by the house was starting to mess with my head. That made sense…right?
“Stephanie?”
I jumped back from the door, almost wetting myself in the process. There was no way I could dismiss it as anything else now. There was a little girl’s voice coming from the basement.
“H-hello?” I responded.
I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking.
“Is this Stephanie?”
“Y-yes, it’s Stephanie.”
“Can you help me?”
“Who are you? Why are you locked in the basement?”
“My name is Meredith Rosenberg. They’re kept me locked up for a long time now. The police were almost on to them and that’s why they moved. Can you get me out?”
A cold shock washed over me and made it hard to respond. Was I actually babysitting for a family that kept a little girl prisoner?
“Oh my God…um….how long have you been locked up with them?”
“Ever since I can remember.”
I felt somehow hot and cold at the same time, and wanted to throw up. This all made sense now with what Avery had told me. Of course his father didn’t want him talking about the door…
“I just need to find the keys and I can…”
“They’re hidden in the garage underneath the metal shelf. It’s inside a magnetic key holder.”
“Okay, just hold tight.”
In a panic to free the poor girl, I darted into the garage and began feeling the space underneath the bottom shelf and sure enough, there was a magnetic key holder there. Running back, I popped the key holder open and began to insert the key into the padlock.
“Did you find it?”
“Yes, sweetie. I’m almost there!”
“Oh, please hurry! Sometimes they come home early!”
This sent me into even more of a rush, and I barely managed to fumble the key into the padlock. I finally heard the successful click of the padlock, pulled the chain off, and slid the deadbolt to the right.
“I’m coming, Meredith. Hold on!”
I turned the doorknob and threw open the door, only to be met with darkness. Now full of adrenaline, my hands felt around for the light switch. Finally finding my purchase, I flicked the light on which lit up most of the stairs.
“Meredith?” I called out.
Unless I was remembering it wrong, it sounded like her voice was just on the other side of the door a minute ago. In fact, it was quite strange that she wasn’t waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Wouldn’t you immediately run out of a basement that you were locked in for God knows how long?
“I’m down here!” The little girl’s voice called out.
Judging from the distance, it sounded like she was calling from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs. My brain suddenly began piecing all the details of this interaction together and the idea of going down into the basement became absolutely terrifying.
“Meredith, you can come up now! The door’s open!”
I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. Why I was scared of a little girl was beyond me, but much like the house itself, something felt very wrong here.
“I hurt my leg, owww! When you said you were getting the key, I went back down to get some of my things and got hurt. Ahhh….”
Her sounds of pain filled me with sorrow, but an invisible force was holding me back from taking another step into that basement.
“Can you move? Maybe pull yourself up on the railing?”
“I can’t! It hurts too bad!”
“Okay, sweetie umm…”
“What’s wrong? Won’t you help me?”
“I-I it’s just…really dark down there and…and I don’t want to get hurt too. Is there any way you can get to the stairs? Any way at all?”
“I tried to sit up, but my shoulder hurts too much.”
“I thought you said your leg got hurt?”
The words hung in the air like a noose. It was only after I said it that I realized there was several things seriously wrong about all of this. A question popped into my head I didn’t even have time to think about until now.
How did she know where the padlock key was?
A deathly silence took up the space between me and wherever this girl was. It was a standoff, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. There were questions I could ask her to figure out what was happening, but I felt that her answers weren’t going to be honest. Perhaps at this point, the truth was too frightful to know.
"Meredith? Are you still there?"
It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing my mind could conjure. The additional silence only unnerved me, so I decided to try and get a better look. Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I clicked on the flashlight. It didn’t do me any good because of the awful range, so I did the one thing I’d already told myself not to do…
I took a step forward...
Maybe it was the angle of the stairs or the lighting, but that one step gave me more information than I ever wanted to know. I caught a better view of the bottom step, which was essentially a ledge into a black abyss. Something looked different on this step, but it took a second to register what it was.
The step was wet, a pool of some unknown liquid overflowing into the darkness of the basement. I knew for sure that the father hadn’t mentioned any flooding so it would be way too random for that. So I stood there, watching in frozen curiosity as the puddle then suddenly rippled…and I realized the abominable truth.
It wasn’t water.
It was a puddle of saliva…and something was drooling into it from the dark.
A wretched chuckle emanated from the horrid void beyond the step, and it cemented me even further into place. It was a wet chortle, and positively evil.
“How did you like my voices?” The thing said from the dark. “I’ve been practicing."
The epiphany creeped down my spine…it was now talking in Avery’s voice. Everything in my body screamed at me to run. I heard the screams but I couldn’t respond no matter how hard I tried.
"A pity though…almost got you."
At this, the most gruesome face peeled back the shadows and revealed itself, along with its unearthly mandibles and small fountain of saliva. My faculties finally came to and I threw myself into the house and kicked the door closed. In mere seconds, I had the door bolted and chained. Leaning against the door, my chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath.
Just as I felt I was safe, the door shuddered as a terrible blow rocked it. I screamed and ran upstairs to grab Avery.
I practically dragged the poor kid out the door and called the police. It wasn’t until the operator came on that I realized I was about to report a monster in the house. Thinking quickly, I told them that I heard a burglar in the home.
It wasn’t long before the police and Avery’s parents came home. Nothing was found, even in the basement, but I didn’t even care at that point. I just wanted the hell out of that house and away from whatever that….thing was. Avery’s parents kept glancing at me funny the whole time, probably because they knew I had their basement key. I shoved it into their hands before I hugged Avery and got into my car to drive home. That poor kid has to live in that house with that thing, but there was nothing I could do about it.
As long as I am alive, I will never….ever set foot in that house again.
And as for basements go, I can't go into them anymore. I just simply can't...

I naturally fell into babysitting around the age of 14. Through friends and family, I got leads for babysitting to score some cash, which definitely beat having to work at a restaurant. The job had its ups and downs, but overall it wasn’t a bad gig at all.
Yet, as many good experiences as I had, they were all eclipsed by one night.
A new family in town talked to my dad at work and it turned out that they needed a babysitter. I happily took the job and found myself watching their 10-year old boy a couple of weeks later. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the family themselves. They were the model citizens of suburban America, complete with the white picket fence and blue shutters. Nothing about their house was strange or even unique. Their son Avery was very mild-mannered and polite. Even their car was basic. Not that these were bad things, but I expected it to be a very boring night.
What I did not expect was the uncomfortable, inexplicable feeling that I got when I set foot in the house. A chill ran through me, but there was no draft. I rubbed my arms as I gazed at their staircase as we passed. They gave me a brief tour of the house before they left a note of instructions and all the usual information I expected from a job.
While trying to figure out what was making me so uneasy about the place, I noticed something about their basement door when I passed it. A padlock was placed on the door, along with a deadbolt in place.
"Any questions?” The father asked as my mind was pulled out of my curiosity.
"No, sir. Everything looks great!”
So they left and Avery and I played some games before I made dinner. A couple of times, I thought I heard Avery call me into the den. Both times, I found him sitting on the couch in what most recognize as the TV-zombie state. He denied having called me, and I went back to making dinner. After the third time, I told Avery it wasn’t funny and that he should stop.
“I’m not doing anything, I’m just watching TV!”
His voice went to that higher tone of pleading, sounding desperate for me to believe him.
“Avery, I know it’s my first time and sometimes you wanna test things out, but I’m trying to get dinner ready so if you call me again, I’m not checking on you, okay?”
“I didn't say anything.”
The child glared at the TV with a pouting face, and I began to feel bad. As many times as I’ve heard lies, I was starting to sense that he was telling the truth. So what was I hearing?
“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not mad. Promise.”
Avery turned his head back towards me, seeming to test if I was the one fibbing now.
“How about I let you stay up a little later if we forget about it?”
“Do you really promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
With our contractual pinkies interlocked, spirits were raised again and I was able to finish dinner. Although I didn’t finish without hearing Avery’s voice calling me once more. I ignored it, and when Avery didn’t mention it at dinner I figured it was him fooling around again. The whole time we chatted as we ate, I couldn’t help but feel that something was not right about this house.
As hard as I tried to not look, my eyes kept diverting to the heavy padlock and chain on the basement door. Curiosity got the best of me and as we were cleaning up, I couldn’t help but ask.
“So Avery, what’s the deal with the basement door?”
“What do you mean?”
His words did not match his demeanor. It was obvious he didn’t make eye contact as he forced his sentence out.
“C’mon, you know what I mean. The padlock, chain, and deadbolt. Y’all have dangerous chemicals down there?”
Avery’s face grew paler and he stared at the wall for a moment.
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to…”
“Dad said no one can talk about it anymore.”
This really threw me off, and I couldn’t possibly finish my sentence now. A thick veil of tension materialized between us.
“So you…you guys aren’t allowed to talk about it?”
Avery shook his head.
“Ah, okay. That’s cool. No big deal.”
It was nothing but a big deal.
Was their dad doing something illegal down there? Or was it something strange that no one could do anything about it? Maybe their dad was in denial about something going on. There were waaaaaay too many questions going through my head now.
“Hey, how about we put on a movie?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What am I saying? Everyone likes movies, right?!”
Now excited, we decided on a fun movie that quickly pulled our minds away from the mysterious basement door. Well, that’s not entirely true. Maybe Avery was distracted, but it was killing me. As we ate popcorn, I couldn’t help but watch Avery, wondering what was going on in that little head of his.
Was there something awful going on in the house and there was nothing I could do to stop it? Or maybe the dad was just…
“Stop,” I told myself inwardly.
Mulling over it all endlessly was not doing myself any favors.
So the movie ended, and I ushered the drifting child to his bed. Now, the house was all to myself until twelve, so I had a good three and a half hours to myself. Immediately, I began texting my friend to tell her all about the weird experience I was having that night. She dismissed it, saying that I was getting spooked by a new place. This annoyed me to no end. I’d been at bigger, way creepier-looking houses but never got weird vibes like this.
Then…I heard it.
“Stephanie…..”
I went instantly still and listened intently.
“You didn’t hear that, Steph. Just keep texting your friend and…”
“Stephanieeeee…”
There was no mistaking it this time. It was definitely coming from the basement.
The acoustics couldn’t have been from Avery upstairs. The voice sounded like a little girl’s. In fact, I’m not even sure he could make his voice like that, anyway.
Slowly, I stood up from the couch and approached the door. Maybe like earlier, I was just hearing things. Maybe being creeped out by the house was starting to mess with my head. That made sense…right?
“Stephanie?”
I jumped back from the door, almost wetting myself in the process. There was no way I could dismiss it as anything else now. There was a little girl’s voice coming from the basement.
“H-hello?” I responded.
I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking.
“Is this Stephanie?”
“Y-yes, it’s Stephanie.”
“Can you help me?”
“Who are you? Why are you locked in the basement?”
“My name is Meredith Rosenberg. They’re kept me locked up for a long time now. The police were almost on to them and that’s why they moved. Can you get me out?”
A cold shock washed over me and made it hard to respond. Was I actually babysitting for a family that kept a little girl prisoner?
“Oh my God…um….how long have you been locked up with them?”
“Ever since I can remember.”
I felt somehow hot and cold at the same time, and wanted to throw up. This all made sense now with what Avery had told me. Of course his father didn’t want him talking about the door…
“I just need to find the keys and I can…”
“They’re hidden in the garage underneath the metal shelf. It’s inside a magnetic key holder.”
“Okay, just hold tight.”
In a panic to free the poor girl, I darted into the garage and began feeling the space underneath the bottom shelf and sure enough, there was a magnetic key holder there. Running back, I popped the key holder open and began to insert the key into the padlock.
“Did you find it?”
“Yes, sweetie. I’m almost there!”
“Oh, please hurry! Sometimes they come home early!”
This sent me into even more of a rush, and I barely managed to fumble the key into the padlock. I finally heard the successful click of the padlock, pulled the chain off, and slid the deadbolt to the right.
“I’m coming, Meredith. Hold on!”
I turned the doorknob and threw open the door, only to be met with darkness. Now full of adrenaline, my hands felt around for the light switch. Finally finding my purchase, I flicked the light on which lit up most of the stairs.
“Meredith?” I called out.
Unless I was remembering it wrong, it sounded like her voice was just on the other side of the door a minute ago. In fact, it was quite strange that she wasn’t waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Wouldn’t you immediately run out of a basement that you were locked in for God knows how long?
“I’m down here!” The little girl’s voice called out.
Judging from the distance, it sounded like she was calling from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs. My brain suddenly began piecing all the details of this interaction together and the idea of going down into the basement became absolutely terrifying.
“Meredith, you can come up now! The door’s open!”
I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. Why I was scared of a little girl was beyond me, but much like the house itself, something felt very wrong here.
“I hurt my leg, owww! When you said you were getting the key, I went back down to get some of my things and got hurt. Ahhh….”
Her sounds of pain filled me with sorrow, but an invisible force was holding me back from taking another step into that basement.
“Can you move? Maybe pull yourself up on the railing?”
“I can’t! It hurts too bad!”
“Okay, sweetie umm…”
“What’s wrong? Won’t you help me?”
“I-I it’s just…really dark down there and…and I don’t want to get hurt too. Is there any way you can get to the stairs? Any way at all?”
“I tried to sit up, but my shoulder hurts too much.”
“I thought you said your leg got hurt?”
The words hung in the air like a noose. It was only after I said it that I realized there was several things seriously wrong about all of this. A question popped into my head I didn’t even have time to think about until now.
How did she know where the padlock key was?
A deathly silence took up the space between me and wherever this girl was. It was a standoff, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. There were questions I could ask her to figure out what was happening, but I felt that her answers weren’t going to be honest. Perhaps at this point, the truth was too frightful to know.
"Meredith? Are you still there?"
It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing my mind could conjure. The additional silence only unnerved me, so I decided to try and get a better look. Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I clicked on the flashlight. It didn’t do me any good because of the awful range, so I did the one thing I’d already told myself not to do…
I took a step forward...
Maybe it was the angle of the stairs or the lighting, but that one step gave me more information than I ever wanted to know. I caught a better view of the bottom step, which was essentially a ledge into a black abyss. Something looked different on this step, but it took a second to register what it was.
The step was wet, a pool of some unknown liquid overflowing into the darkness of the basement. I knew for sure that the father hadn’t mentioned any flooding so it would be way too random for that. So I stood there, watching in frozen curiosity as the puddle then suddenly rippled…and I realized the abominable truth.
It wasn’t water.
It was a puddle of saliva…and something was drooling into it from the dark.
A wretched chuckle emanated from the horrid void beyond the step, and it cemented me even further into place. It was a wet chortle, and positively evil.
“How did you like my voices?” The thing said from the dark. “I’ve been practicing."
The epiphany creeped down my spine…it was now talking in Avery’s voice. Everything in my body screamed at me to run. I heard the screams but I couldn’t respond no matter how hard I tried.
"A pity though…almost got you."
At this, the most gruesome face peeled back the shadows and revealed itself, along with its unearthly mandibles and small fountain of saliva. My faculties finally came to and I threw myself into the house and kicked the door closed. In mere seconds, I had the door bolted and chained. Leaning against the door, my chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath.
Just as I felt I was safe, the door shuddered as a terrible blow rocked it. I screamed and ran upstairs to grab Avery.
I practically dragged the poor kid out the door and called the police. It wasn’t until the operator came on that I realized I was about to report a monster in the house. Thinking quickly, I told them that I heard a burglar in the home.
It wasn’t long before the police and Avery’s parents came home. Nothing was found, even in the basement, but I didn’t even care at that point. I just wanted the hell out of that house and away from whatever that….thing was. Avery’s parents kept glancing at me funny the whole time, probably because they knew I had their basement key. I shoved it into their hands before I hugged Avery and got into my car to drive home. That poor kid has to live in that house with that thing, but there was nothing I could do about it.
As long as I am alive, I will never….ever set foot in that house again.
And as for basements go, I can't go into them anymore. I just simply can't...

In case you don't know, the Sun Princess is Princess Cruises' latest behemoth ship, carrying around 3,000 guests and 1,000 crew at full capacity. I just got back from a 2-week sailing and took meticulous notes on this epic new vessel. Here's my extremely detailed, no-BS review:

The Sheer Size is Nuts

When I say this ship is massive, I mean it's absolutely nuts how big this floating city is. Especially when you get off in ports and have to walk back down the dock to reboard - that's when the sheer scale of the Sun Princess really hits you. Even though it carries a ton of people, the only time it really felt crowded was during breakfast. The Eatery fills up quick and the International Cafe, which sits outside The Eatery doesn't lend itself well for crowds of people wiaint for their coffees. You kind of end up waiting in the middle of where the walking traffic moves.

The Medallion Life

Your entire cruise experience revolves around the new Medallion wearable device and app, for better or worse. I'll admit it has some creepy "Big Brother" vibes with how much it tracks your every movement and purchase. But the convenience it provides is undeniable.
The medallion is your modern day "cruise card" that you tap everywhere to make payments, order drinks, unlock your stateroom, get on/off the ship, and more. But what's crazy is the app can use the medallion to detect your location anywhere on board. Order a drink or meal through the app and the server will manage to find you anywhere on the ship to deliver it, usually within 15 minutes. Caveat: there were times when it took longer and other times when our order was marked "delivered" and it never arrived.
The medallion definitely feels like getting on/off the ship is way faster. The only time we ever waiting in line was for the few minutes it took people to run through security.
This made getting food/drinks almost too easy. On port days when we needed to get off the ship early for excursions, setting up a scheduled delivery of my Egg McMuffin, fruit plate in coffee was really convenient.
Fair warning though - if you're anti-tracking and value privacy over convenience, the ubiquitous Medallion system may not be for you.
Story: we were sitting by the Crooners bar having our nightly pre-dinner cocktail. The bar was packed on this night for some reason. A staff member in a suit started wandering the room, made eye contact with me from 40-feet away and then made a b-line for us. He wanted to sign us up for a wine/food pairing event they were having. I have to believe this is because of the tracking being done via the meddalion. They could see we drink our share of wine. It definitely felt like targeted marketing.

Premium Package Was Best for Us

We opted for the Premium beverage package at $80 per day and I'm glad we did for a few reasons:

1. If you need to have more than one device connected to the internet at a time, Premium makes sense just based on that (you can have four devices). The cheaper Plus package only allows one device, which was a non-starter for me needing both my phone and laptop to be online. I'm unfortunately not able to just live off the grid for almost three weeks and need to periodically check in with my clients.
2. The wine selection is way better with Premium vs Plus. As a wine drinker, the upgrade was 100% worth it.
3. Two free speciality dining meals are included, which was clutch on our 2-week cruise to break up the repetition of the main dining rotation.
4. Unlimited premium desserts and ice creams - a nice perk for those with a sweet tooth.

Basically, Premium removed almost any need to think about or worry over costs on board. For $80 per day, the premium drinks, speciality dining, better wines, desserts and internet made it an easy choice for our group's needs.
And for those wondering about the 15 drink per day limit (since there's almost a weekly post asking about it) - it was never an issue for me. I'm a scrotch drinker and to get a decent pour, you basically have to order a double. Even drinking doubles, I never got to 15 drinks/day. This even includes sea days where we'd typically have a mimosa or two with breakfast, a few cocktails/beers at the pool, an cocktail or two before dinner and then wine at dinner.

Staff & Service

I can't say enough about how incredible and friendly the service was across the board on the Sun Princess. Our room steward, waiters, bartenders - everyone went so above and beyond daily, it really elevated the experience. I'm always amazed how they remember everyone's names.
However, we did notice a clear slip in the quality of service in the second week compared to the first, likely due to a crew changeover partway through our sailing. Simple things like forgetting drink orders or getting meals wrong became more frequent from our new set of MDR servers.

Suites & Staterooms

We originally booked a balcony room. When the bid offer came in I followed some old advice and just placed bids on upgrades because "you don't have to take the offer if you don't like it." Well guess what, that's not the case anymore. My offer was accepted and we automatically became the proud recipients of a Reserve Mini-Suite for an additional $500. In hindsight, I'm glad it worked out. The room has noticably more space than a standard balcony room. These mini-suites are spacious, basically a separate living room and bedroom divided by a curtain you can close off. Having two TVs and an extra closet was great.
As mini-suite guests we also received a nice amenity of free premium wines in our room - on the second week they even topped us up with two more complementary bottles! I guess each week is looked at as a new sailing -- so you get two more bottles! Some older posts complained about the wine quality. It looks like it's been upgraded because we received a Pinot Noir and Chard from La Crema. Being California wine people, La Crema works great for us. If you can swing it, I'd highly recommend going for a mini-suite over a regular balcony.
That being said, I'd avoid the "Cabana" balcony suites. The layout is really bizarre and in my opinion a downgrade. When you walk out onto your balcony, it's not really a balcony. There's another area in front of your balcony that connects a few other cabana suites. The idea is that a few rooms share a private balcony with jacuzzi. However, it also means that walking out onto your balcony doesn't give you a private ocean view because there's this 20-30 feet of additional patio in front of you and everyone above you just looks down into your balcony area.

Dining Highs & Lows

Main Dining Rooms

It can be confusing because there are three floors (Decks 6, 7 and 8). We reserved dining in the MDR prior to the trip via the app for the first few days just so we knew there was a guaranteed place to eat. On night one, the dining room manager introduced himself to us and said he went ahead and booked our table for us every night of the trip. If we didn't show, it was fine.
Food quality in the main dining rooms (MDRs) was consistently good across breakfast and dinner. On port days, it's an "express breakfast" which just means a shorter list of options. Nothing mind-blowing, but solid and tasty. My biggest gripe here is the operating hours. On sea days, the MDR closes for breakfast at 9:00am. You basically have to choose between sleeping in a little, hitting the gym, or getting a decent breakfast.
Pro-Tip: Biggest breakfast tip is stay away from the scrammbled eggs -- they're gross. We figured out that the scrambled eggs come from a bag. If you want real, cracked eggs, either get an omelett or over easy/medium/hard/etc.

Reserve Suite Dining Access

The Reserve mini-suite gives you access to the Reserve Restaurant. It's a little bit more elevated of a dining experience and reservations aren't needed -- you just show up. We dined her a few times and it did feel more elevated. Unlike the MDR, the server in the Reserve Restaurant feels more personal because they're handling smaller groups.

Lido Deck

For more casual fare, the Lido deck had some surprises like an awesome made-to-order salad bar station that became my go-to for healthier meals between all the indulgent dining. The burger grill, taco station and pizza areas were pretty standard, but that salad bar slapped.

Lackluster Buffet

On the flip side, The Eatery buffet left a lot to be desired. Despite different themed stations, the quality was mid at best. We largely avoided eating at the buffet outside of quick breakfast grabs. The Eatery closes for breakfast around 10:00 AM. At which point if you move further into the ship, the restaurants that are normall Catch and Butcherblock become a buffet extension that's opened later -- it's kind of funky.
The layout of the buffet is weird and leaves people wondering if they're cutting in line especially when you go to the extended buffet at Catch/Butcherblock.
What's odd to me is you can go grab a million cheese plates, fruit plates or hummus/veggie plates at the buffet. But if you order those things through the Medallion app, it's not "complimentary." You have to pay like $4.99-$5.99 for those items. We still can't figure out why it costs $5 to order a tiny cheese plate but ordering a cheeseburger is free.

Specialty Dining Winners

We used our two speciality dining credits at Crown Grill and Butcher's Block. I was a little worried because I had read mixed reviews on here about both of these restaurants. However, both meals were really good and before you come at me, I'm a foodie guy -- I'd tell you if they sucked.
We chose Crown for my parent's anniversay dinner. The service was awesome and they made us all feel really special. The setup here is like a steakhouse, where you order your beef and then the sides are a la carte family style. We had a group of seven -- the manager just said "we'll bring you out all the sides, enough for your whole party" which was great.
The next week, we hit up Butcher's Block by Dario. I've never left a meal more full on a cruise ship than at this place. It's family style dining and they just bring out everything for you -- almost like a brazilian barbecue place. We started with a bread appetizer and a glass of wine while you wait for them to get the dining room setup. Then there's more bread on the table + veggies. Then the food starts coming out: beef tartar; beef carpaccio; etc. The main event is the massive tomahawks and porterhouse steaks they carve up tableside. They'll just keep putting beef on your plate until you beg them to stop. Finally, there's desert and a grappa digestif.
Both restaurants were great experiences and a very welcomed change from the MDR after a week of repetition. The food, service and overall vibe were a noticeable step up.

Spellbound

We also splurged one night for the Spellbound immersive magic/dinner experience and it was easily a cruise highlight despite the $150/pp price tag. After an elevated multi-course meal, you get ushered by a guy in a top hat into an exclusive hidden club. While waiting for the magic show, you hang out in their bar which is reminiscent of the Dinseyland Haunted Mansion. While enjoying your drink, there's a magician perorming more intement magic for everyone at the bar. Once they're ready for the show, you're brought into the room where the actual magic show takes place. Afterwards, you're welcome to hang out in the Spellbound bar and continue drinking.
If you're from LA, you probably know about the Magic Castle in Hollywood. Spellbound is an extension of the Magic Castle. Just like with the Magic Castle, you show up in formal wear. This means a coat and tie for the men and an evening gown/dress for the woman.
Overall, we really enjoyed it.

Room Service

This was hit or miss for us. You fill out the paper door hangar and place it on your doorknob before heading to bed. Then you hope and pray that it will actually arrive -- which in two of our instances, it never did. Your options are also super limited. You also may or may not receive what you actually ordered. With coffee for instance, you have a choice of ordering it to-go (paper cup) or stay (actual coffe cup). We always seemed to get the opposite of what we ordered to the point where it became a running joke for us.

International Cafe

This became our goto for a lot of things: coffee, snacks, quick breakfast food (pastries, coffee cake, avodcado toast, Egg McMuffins). Werid fact though: if you order the Egg McMuffin through the app, it comes as an egg patty just like McDonalds and with cheese. When you get the one at International Cafe, it's just an over easy egg and no cheese. Why they can't just be the same is odd.

Night Owl Needs

My main dining gripe was the lack of solid late night food options for us night owls. The Eatery buffet closed at an absurd 10:30pm, leaving only spotty room service or mobile ordering as the choices if you worked up an appetite after evening activities. More robust late-night casual dining would be appreciated.

Bars & Alcohol

Overall, great selection of cocktails. All of the bars have their own little theme and different menus. The ladies I was with were consitently impressed at the quality and thought of the cocktails at each bar. They were also super impressed with the quality of the glassware being used. I must admit, everything from the rocks glasses to the martini glasses really were beautiful.
If you just want straight spirits, you have to order a double to get a normal pour (they're actually measuring out the pours). That being said, with either Plus or Premium, you'll get a good selection of top quality booze.
You gotta try really hard to hit the 15-drink max. Some days I had drinks at breakfast, during the day, lunch, before dinner, during dinner and after dinner. I never hit my max.
One thing that impressed me was staff actually being concerned about drink quality. We were having drinks at one of the bars on the Lido deck. The supervisor was upset with the bartenders because they ran out of premium liquor and hadn't requested more. He made sure to remind them that when someone orders a premium drink they get a premium liquor -- no exceptions.
You also must checkout the Good Spirits bar. There's a few times throughout the night where you watch a live cocktail demonstration. The bartenders at GS are so fun and playful -- really makes for a great vibe.

Amenities - Hits & Misses

The gym facilities on board were a bit of a disappointment, especially for a new ship. While they had a nice assortment of cardio machines, the actual weight room was laughably small with only a few pieces of strength equipment that were always monopolized. Not a deal-breaker, but an area that could be improved.
The pool areas were nicely spread out across different sections of the Lido deck. On sailing days, there was typically a band, the DJ and then a random movie on the jumbotron. The random blasting of action movies at 3pm really ruined the pool vibe and it's typically when the deck would thin out. One minute you're relaxing in the jacuzzi, the next an action movie with explosions is shaking the pool area. It made no sense and seemed tailored for a much younger crowd despite this sailing's passengers being mostly older adults.

Technology & Support

In addition to the Medallion app, the overall internet speeds on board were fast and reliable enough for me to easily stay connected for basic work needs.
The technology support via the app's live chat feature, however, was utterly useless. Any time we had issues properly being charged for drink packages or had to modify reservations, the live chat was a time-wasting nightmare. You're clearly just talking to an outsourced rep with zero actual knowledge of Princess' systems or operations. Your best bet is to go in-person to the guest services desk.

Other Notes & Quibbles

• Dress codes weren't enforced at all. We did the whole suite/gown routine for formal nights only to see plenty of people still rocking jeans and t-shirts in the MDR. Same lack of enforcement for the "formal attire required" Spellbound event. Either lose the formal nights or enforce them.
• Our drink package tallies often had errors, with our group's drinks randomly getting combined onto one person's account. Always double check and ask for corrections.
• The "Cabana" balcony suite layout is bizarre - your balcony is just a shared landing in front of other suites, rather than a private space. We avoided these after hearing the lack of privacy.

Hey I'm in the beginning stages of planning a trip in November to the San Jose del Cabo area. I was just wondering what the cheapest and best grocery stores in the area were? I see lots of posts for like cheap restaurants, but I don't see many posts for the best value in grocery stores. I don't want to pay tourist prices, if possible lol.
Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

In his addons "iridescent wooden plank" "sacrificial knife" and "wooden plank" all talk about a journalist, seemingly weaseling herself into the group to documentate her findings about the cult like utopia.
How I know they're a female? It's in the descriptions (iridescent wooden plank "she came here to poison your minds with fear! Do not let the fear in!" -otto stamper) but something ticked in my head.
Who is this reporter? They go unnamed in the addons so I checked the druanees bio. NOTHING.
Which I found odd because important people in killers and survivors got names, but this one very important person in the druanees lore didn't get one? And then it clicked in my head.
The multiple realities theory.
It is believed and proved that most survivors, cosmetics and killers are from different realities. so I got to thinking, what if this desperate reporter was infact..a survivor, already in the game,therefore going unnamed.
So I searched, since it was a female I cut the selection of all the males, then I checked the female survivors bios.
Meg- this doesn't make sense, she (I believe) is a runner or was a runner in all her realities
Claudette- this doesn't make sense, she is a botanist or was a botanist in all her realities
Nea- this isn't possible due to her being a streetwise character, she wouldn't take a reporting job
Feng- a gamer and cosplayer, no other possible jobs
Kate- a country singer, and in one of her realities was in a popular band
Jane- this was possible but she probably wouldn't do something so risky, so she would stick to game shows
Yui- Street racer in all her realities
Élodie- her lore consists inside another survivors and is mainly based on a cult (Felix's lore) so this was also a possible pick, but she was more of a secret spy rather than a news reporter so this idea was scrapped
Yun-jin- I believe she was a musical producer in all her realities so no she wouldn't
Mikeala- she worked in moonstone as a story teller (?) So that was far off
Haddie- this was impossible or reincarnation was at play
Thalita- this was also unlikely, she has a brother and they never go anywhere without the other soo
Sable- default Sable I personally believe was from a completely different reality from the default mikeala due to their conflicting bios, this is shown due to Sable talking about mikeala ,her best friend ,going missing but mikealas doesn't speak a drop about Sable and how both of them also had no coalition with reporting in the first place , so this was also far from it.
So That only left one survivor.. ZARINA CASSIR!
On zarinas bio it talks about her having being near a reporter like job in the first place, as her job was being a documentarion here are some pieces of lore that shows her possibly being the reporter that was killed by otto;
-the news channel about injustice was always on which led her down to be a reporter
-went UNDERCOVER (modified her look, faked an accent and secured a job at a restaurant and posted the content she filmed online after being fired and was picked up by THE NEWS)
-she wan first prize on her film on sacco and vanzetti for an English exam (?) And that shot her off to do documentary (this reality it was mainly film making)
-she interviewed someone (a warden for hellshire penitentiary) about a previous prisoner at hellshire (this being caleb, the deathslinger who was irish)
-got picked up by the news AGAIN but this time on gang violence and only drew traction due to it gaining international acclaim
-looked deeper into the picture on the "mad mick massacre" story which could've been a different name for caleb in that reality
-blended in AGAIN to sneak into the restricted are of the prison and then vanished due to the entity after moving a brick with "death to bayshore" written on it and both connected by the wrench owned by caleb which they both touched before disappearing into the fog
All this aswell as her becoming a "plucky documentarion" all help my theory that in an alternate reality ZARINA CASSIR was infact the reporter in the druanees bio.
Some helpful exta information coinside within her perks quotes;
Off the record "Trust me, I investigate thoroughly and DISCREETLY" being discreet by blending I to the cult and then being murdered after being caught by otto stamper?
Red herring "The news edit out what is burdensome and complex; which is the TRUTH" as in what she was looking for in the cult where she blended in with the ottomarians, gathered Intel and tried to publish the truth to the world but failed to do so in the process!?
And finally, for the people "We can write our own story and decide how it really ends" kind of like how you were trying to write the truth about the ottomarians and trying to tell the ottomarians that otto was lying about the utopia and were also trying to say it was also a cult and then being killed by said otto!?
I rest my case, any questions comments are below 🙏

Can someone please please tell me what store bought ranch is the best?!?!?!? I love ranch I put it on so many things but I’ve only ever liked restaurant ranch. But I want a container in my house and do not know which one to buy. Please help!!?

If you're thinking about making the jump to spend a week (or three) in Italy to give a "turbo boost" to your language schools, maybe there's something you can take of this report to help you make the decision (or maybe help you with planning and preparing expectations).
Background: I live in an English-speaking country and I've been studying Italian for 3 or 4 years through reading, podcasts, and a weekly zoom call with a personal tutor. I was due some annual leave, and I decided to treat myself to two weeks in Italy at a language school.
Choice of City: I chose Verona because I had briefly visited before and it seemed lovely -- and I can now fully confirm that it is lovely. Choosing a smaller city definitely ended up being the right move. The transport and accommodation was much easier compared to my earlier tourist trips to Rome for example. I would definitely recommend a smaller city rather than Milan or Rome.
Choice of Season: I decided on April/May because June-August is hot, crowded, and expensive. SeptembeOctober would also work well, I think. The school said that the second half of the year was much busier for them.
Choice of School: There are four Italian language schools in Verona, although two of them collaborate closely so in practice there are really only three. All of them offer similar products at similar pricing. The group classes are in the morning, for roughly 4 hours (minus a 20 minute coffee break in the middle). Our school had the first two hours of "Grammar", and the second two hours of "Conversation". The afternoon is used for private classes for those really looking to make extra progress. Personally, I found that the 3.5 hours in the morning was plenty sufficient for one day.
The school I chose was InClasse. All of the schools have superb ratings on Google. I settled on InClasse mostly because it seemed to be the most "professional" of the schools, in that it had less focus on entertainment, and more focus on the "learning" part. Although, I have to say that I had a ton of fun in the classes. It wasn't at all "strict" or "dull" at all, I promise! Was this school the best? I don't know. But I can confirm that it was very, very, very good!
Class Levels & Sizes: All levels were catered for, from A0/A1 through to C2. Although, I don't think there were any C2 students during my time there, the B2/C1 class was the most senior class I think. Class size was a hard-cap at 8 students. I believe the beginner class was 6-8 students. My B2 class size was between 3-5 depending on comings and goings, which was a perfect class size for me. 3 or 4 students mean you get a bit of a chance to listen, and to prepare what you're planning to say.
The School Overall: The mood in the school was fantastic. There was an excited buzz every morning as the students turned up, all of us with a common purpose. Students from so many different countries. I had to work hard to try not to make too many friends, because I knew I had to leave and say goodbye (that being the most painful part of the visit). Of course I was a bit nervous on the first day, but by the second morning I felt right at home. And the teaching was great -- they did a great job of adjusting to match each student's capabilities even within the same class. They prompted just the right amount, corrected just the right amount. Spot on. The school can also help you sit your exams, if you want to get accredited officially.
OK. So yeah, the school part turned out absolutely as well as I could have imagined.
So what about logistics?
Accommodation: We found a very reasonably priced AirBnB just around the corner from the school, which was also 2 minutes walk from the arena, and from the restaurants, cafes, and the tourist visit stuff. All of the schools in Verona were on the edge of the "old town". I definitely recommend finding accommodation that is walking distance from the school. The bus network in Verona is excellent, but you really don't want to have to deal with that on your first few days... plus it's very crowded in the morning! Taxi/Uber is not a cheap option. So, yeah, picking the right apartment is going to be key.
Actually, InClasse offers a service where they can arrange Accommodation for you as part of your booking! They have a deal with some apartments. I didn't take them up on that, I just booked a place directly. But if it's your first time in Italy and you're not super-confident, then that's definitely a good option. One less thing to worry about! If you're going to do that, then you definitely want to book sooner rather than later, since they have limited apartments available. You'll also want to confirm your classes a few weeks in advance too, and pay your deposit -- since they really do enforce the maximum class size!
Transport: Verona transport is great. There's a smallish local airport. To get from the airport to town you'll take the 199 bus to the central train/bus station. That's €6 or so, you can pay onboard with tap-and-go. Then it's 1km to the big Roman wall that marks the start of the old town. You can walk that, or take a bus if you're very tired. Again, you can tap-and-go for €2 onboard, although if you're taking lots of buses, it's cheaper to buy a 10-pack of urban tickets. Using the bus phone app is problematic, it seems you need a +39 Italy country code mobile in order to register for the phone app. So, yeah, just credit card or go buy paper tickets.
Stuff to Do: Verona is an incredible tourist town. There's enough to keep you busy for two weeks easily. If you're staying longer, then you can take the train out to Mantova, or plenty of other little places nearby.
Final Recommendation: Hell yeah. Do it. I'm already thinking about my next trip.
TL; DR

• Italy Language School: YES, DO IT
• Verona: YES, GO THERE
• InClasse: ALSO YES

That's not a theory post about mysteries and destinies, but a nice poetic ending for One Piece. After all things solved, some random people come to Brook asking things like "hey, could you please tell us the story of Luffy, the king of the pirates?".
Then he clears his throat (oops...he doesn't have it yohohohoh!), change his voice and says:
"Wealth, fame, power. Gold Roger, the King of the Pirates, attained this and everything else the world had to offer, and his dying words drove countless men to the seas ...."
Then, the music "We are" is played one last time, maybe in a more epic rythm, while showing main characters living their new lives: Sanji receiving Zeff on his new Restaurant on All Blue, Kobi training new mariners, Usopp being carried by his countrymen as a hero, Robin teaching about the Void Century, etc.
If you guys want to have an image of this, watch again the ending of SNES Super Mario RPG (one of the best ending sequences that I've ever seen!), but with One Piece Characters.

Lately, many guys have been asking about matchmakers, so I am going to write a series of articles focusing on matchmakers - what they do and what to look for.
A Personal Process
The matchmaking process is an incredibly personal. A person who knows you introduces you to another person they know.
That part of it is simple and easy to understand. It was one of the primary ways people met. Often the matchmaker was an aunt or the wife of a minister or rabbi or maybe the school marm or post mistress in the American West. Usually, it was a woman who knew a lot of people in the community.
Of course, matchmakers still play an important role in most of the world, although it is not nearly as common in the US or Europe as it was even fifty years ago. This largely is a result of a general rise in the age of marriage and an explosion in the movement of people, because you need to really know two people before you match them. Sadly, today in the West nobody knows anyone, so matchmaking is not as common.
Professional Matchmakers
In fact, professional matchmakers were largely restricted to immigrant communities until about twenty years ago. In big American cities there were still a few women making a living as Italian, Greek, Japanese, Chinese, Polish, or Jewish matchmakers, but often these were very small businesses.
Something changed and I don't really know what but the industry grew out of those issues. It seems to have revived first in New York City with millionaire matchmakers charging exorbitant rates to match very wealthy men with beautiful younger women.
The problem was that these matchmakers usually did not know the men or the women, so they created a process based on traditional methods mixed with modern social science research. The process its self is important.
The Process
The matchmaking process is still very personal, but often feels more like a job interview. You work directly with a matchmaker for weeks. They ask an array of very personal questions in an attempt to determine exactly what they right type of woman for you is.
It is very detailed. Here is the form that AFA requires its matchmaking clients to fill out. Other services go into even more detail and some require sessions with a psychologist. For a lot of guys this is a turn-off because it feels too invasive.
Then the matchmaker selects the women for you to meet based on this research. Some of the matchmakers will not even tell you anything about the woman you are paying hundreds and possibly thousands of dollars to meet. Others allow a lot more input including looking at photos.
I understand the concerns about photos. Men are incredibly visual. They often look at a photo and "Fall in Love!" This gums up the meeting process, but if you get a guy in front of a woman - maybe a woman who is not his idea of drop dead gorgeous there might be enough real chemistry to spark a relationship.
Next the matchmaker selects the first date. Usually, the international matchmakers provide the drive, translator, and have already chosen the restaurant. They try very hard to make these first dates perfect.
Then the next day the client is de-briefed by the matchmaker. What happens next depends on this debriefing. Sometimes there is a second date with the woman and other times moving on to a different woman. Sometimes they have the unpleasant task of telling the man - who is the paying customer - that the woman is not interested in him. Then they will discuss what the man can do to improve his form and begin looking for the next match.
This process might continue for a set number of dates or time. It all depends. Generally, matchmakers have a pretty high success rate, especially for financially successful men with a really poor dating track record.
And one of the best thing about all matchmakers is that they are really trying very, very hard. They want to see you succeed. Even the worst want you to succeed as another notch on their broom, but the best will coach you, encourage you, educate with you, cry with you, and celebrate with you.
Factors To Consider When Selecting a Matchmaker

1. General Personality: You are going to spend a ton of time with the matchmaker and their staff. Do you like how they carry themselves and what you can tell of their ethics? What is their background and education? If you do not match well with them the process will be difficult.
2. Aggressiveness: Some matchmakers are VERY pushy. That is a regular issue for men. Be sure you like and respect your matchmaker before you spend any money, and that you are willing to listen to their advice. Otherwise you are simply wasting your time and money.
3. Transparency: How much do they charge and when do they tell you the price? Some matchmakers are notorious for not telling men their price until they know a ton about them and can therefore squeeze them for the maximum amount. This is one of the worse industry practices.
4. Price: The price of high end matchmaking can be more than $500k. That is at the very top of the US and European market. In international matchmaking there is at least one company that advertises a $100k package, although I bet they rarely sell them. In international matchmaking I would say the price usually runs from $5k for a simple package of a few dates in one city to about $20k for scores of dates in a variety of countries over a period of months. SHOP AROUND! Compare price and services.
5. Size Database: How many women do they actually have in their database? This is another issue full of lack of transparency. Often these agencies have very limited catalogs but can reach out to other matchmakers for a trade. This creates a slow complicated process. The more women they have in their database the simpler the process is and the higher chance of success.
6. Location: Where are the women located? This is usually self-evident but since the war in Ukraine it is more important than ever.
7. The Matchmaking Process: Ask them to explain EXACTLY what their process is? Who is involved and how are the women vetted? Ask if you will get to see the women's profiles and photos. I would be careful about ruling out a well regarded service over this issue, but you should know before you start.
8. Reviews: Read the reviews and try to talk to people who actually used them.
9. Beauty: No, not the matchmakers beauty - your potential matches beauty. If you are at least partially driven by beauty mention it and listen to the reaction. Every matchmaker wishes men were not so visual, but you can judge a lot by what they say about this question both good and bad.
10. Settling: A matchmaker should not start out expecting you to settle. You might need to work on yourself and maybe be more open to possibilities, but not to settling. You want a matchmaker who is as devoted to finding you the perfect match as your mom.

Reader Feedback
Have you used a matchmaker. If so, please, please write the name of the company. I have some questions I will DM you for use in future reviews.
Best Wishes!
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