Stabbed Clean Through The Heart

We decided to stab our house in the heart.

It was a conscious decision. Really.

But we did kill it.

Like every house, the heart is the kitchen. Our house's heart had reached its max number of miles quite some time ago, but for so long, we couldn't bring ourselves to do a heart transplant.

We finally faced it, and started this past Thursday.

We just said, "House, we are going to stab you in the heart. It will kill you, but don't worry. We'll bring you back to life. Really. Pinky promise."

We tried to make our voices sound like we really believed ourselves, but House wasn't buying it. He was understandably nervous. I mean, who really wants to be killed, and just trust that you'll be brought back to life? We didn't give House much time to think about it and get more nervous. We chose to do a quick strike. Like pulling off a band-aid.

House recoiled when he saw us coming after him with this beastie.


And now our House's heart is laying on the operating table. Or, as we like to call it, the Living Room.


We've found that The Heart has a REALLY hard time beating when it's in this condition. All members of the house are greatly feeling the lack of The Heart. And the Living Room.

And in The Heart's place is a gaping hole.


House is out for the count, and can't really tell us how he's feeling, but we are guessing it's not too good and getting worse by the moment. And that's why we're hurrying. Wish us luck.