When I hadn't heard anything from the Building Inspector about my permit by noon yesterday, I decided to give him a call. He said he hadn't approved the permit because (and this is a direct quote): "I think you're good with the construction of the porch itself, but I'm worried about the possibility of frost heave in that concrete pad since it's on a cinder block foundation."
Fortunately, I controlled myself and squeaked out, "I don't think that's really a concern and I have to go now" before I hung up the phone and started yelling and throwing things. And then I called my momma and used the phrase "This is bullshit!" about five times in 20 minutes, which is a new record and which caused my momma to use my entire name ("Jayne Elizabeth!') and cluck her tongue.
And then I called the Building Inspector and politely invited him over to the house to inspect the concrete pad and the cinder block foundation under it. He came right over (and ran his tires and hubcap up against the curb, which somewhat pleased me), walked all around the foundation and all over the concrete pad, during which time I noticed that he's kinda cute (is that inappropriate?) and then said, "I see now what you've got goin' on and that's not a problem at all. I'll sign off on it and you can get started."
Later that afternoon I was walking back from City Hall with a crisp new Building Permit in my hand, visions of me sitting on the new porch having a grand time, kinda like Scarlett O'Hara at the barbecue, when a little kid about six years old stopped me.
"Hey! Are you a woman?!" he hollered.
"Me? A woman? No way!" I replied.
His friend, about the same age, said, "See, I told you that ain't no woman!"
So much for being Scarlett O'Hara....