It's raining in my garage

No, that is neither a joke nor a euphemism.

Two nights ago, Husbandly One and I heard the strangest, sudden cracking sound, and both got up to figure out what it was. When we opened the garage door, we saw the problem: part of the ceiling in there had collapsed from the weight of the melting snow on the roof coming in under the shingles. Up until that point we had been having a great day, but the sight of a sheet of wet gyprock on your floor, accompanied by big fluffy sheets on insulation, does not instill additional happiness, believe me. Nor does the steady drip-drip-drip of melt-water hitting your lawnmower and camping chairs.

So it looks like we need a new roof NOW. The only good part of the ceiling collapse is that our truck wasn't in the garage. The truck wasn't in the garage because it is in the shop, getting a new $3000 transmission.

Look at me, I can spend $10,000 in a single day, without leaving the house or going on-line. Such is my power.

This sucks on a level previously unimagined.