So the Water Damage Inspector comes in to check if after two days of crazy giant fans everywhere our walls and ceiling are dry enough to start the restoration work. He comes there with another woman, a new employee who is supposed to follow him around to learn. As soon as they get upstairs, Liam hands her this book.
She recognizes the Hebrew and asks me if we've ever taken Liam to Israel. I tell her that yes, because his grandparents live there.
"Oh... Is that... Is that the capital?"
"No. Jerusalem is the capital, but--"
"Of course it is. Certainly."
"No, it is. But Tel-Aviv is the biggest city."
"But wait, where's the US embassy?"
"All the embassies are in Tel-Aviv, for political reasons. But the capital is--"
"Of course, of course. The capital is Jerusalem, of course."
"No no," I say. "I'm not making a political statement. Jerusalem is the capital, and--"
"Of course it's the capital. Just because there's some mosque there it's not going to be the capital?"
But that's not the story I was going to tell. This one is the story with the punchline:
Before they leave, while the women shows Liam pictures of her dogs on her cellphone, the guy comes up to me.
"So, I finished inspecting everything. You can call the insurance company and tell them that they can send someone to start the restoration, because all the walls and the ceilings are dry now, apart from the tiles on the third floor bathroom, but that's just because of the semen."
About a minute goes by. I'm just looking at him.
"You have semen between the tiles."
"Oh. I do? Oh, yes yes."