A Minor Structural Readjustment

Mrs. Higgins noticed her teacup listing subtly towards the north-west, a phenomenon that had progressed from her sugar bowl to the kettle over the past week. She'd initially suspected a design flaw in her new ergonomic mug, but when the grandfather clock began to tilt like a tipsy lighthouse, she considered other possibilities.

"Your house is sinking," her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, announced one afternoon, peering over the increasingly slanted fence. "Right into the old peat bog, it seems."

Mrs. Higgins nodded, adjusting her spectacles. "Ah, that explains the persistent damp in the cellar. And the hydrangeas are certainly thriving with the extra moisture." She took a sip of her now almost horizontally inclined tea. "I suppose I'll need to update my address with the postal service. They're notoriously fussy about such things." Mr. Henderson stared, aghast. "But... your house!" "Indeed," she replied, "a structural readjustment. Though, I do worry about the bother of relocating my extensive collection of vintage thimbles. That's going to be a real inconvenience."