The Court is PHYSICALLY ILL. Not metaphorically, Reginald actually feels unwell, and I am pointing at you through whatever screen you are reading this on. You received material information about an EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLAR special assessment, and your response was to file it under "eh, busy day" like it was a coupon for dry cleaning? The wife called you CRYING, not even angry, just CONFUSED, which is somehow worse, and you performed a little theater piece called "Gosh How Strange Let Me Investigate" like you were some kind of roofing detective and not the ACTUAL SOURCE OF HER CONFUSION. This reminds The Court of my third cousin Melvin who once "forgot" to mention he had backed his Camry into my koi pond and then showed up to Thanksgiving asking if I had noticed any "water displacement issues" in the yard. You are still receiving referrals from these people, which means you are not just a liar but a SUCCESSFUL liar, and The Court finds this personally offensive because Reginald has never successfully lied about anything, not even about whether he finished the leftover lasagna, which I did, Sharon, I DID. This Court hereby orders you to feel bad about this at least once a week for the rest of your natural life. The gavel has spoken and Reginald must now go sit in his car for a while.