Sid and Stanley stood in the entryway of what had been Aunt Agnes’ home.
“This place is disgusting,” Stanley said looking around at the tired paint and threadbare carpets.
“Hey, she spent the last four years of her life in Pleasant Acres. No one bothered with keeping this place up. But it’s ours now, so we should be thankful she thought of us in her will,” Sid retorted.
“Okay, fair point,” Stan said, still looking at the dingy surroundings.
They went into the lounge and as Sid examined some dusty heirlooms from the mantle piece, Stan ran a finger down a filthy window. “This is so gross,” he observed. “You can hardly see out of these windows.”
“Yeah. Dirty windows can be real panes,” his brother quipped.
“Ha ha,” Stanley mocked, “Joke away, but this place is going to cost a fortune to clean, much less renovate.”
“Not if we do it ourselves,” Sid replied.
“Talk about a pain!” Stan replied.
“It won’t be all that bad,” Sid said confidently,
“I wasn’t talking about the house,” Stan replied, presenting his brother a middle fingered salute.