Brick and Mortar

I am a contractor. Bricks are my sustenance. Mortar puts food on the table.
One day a tiny Indian woman came into my office seeking to upgrade her new home. I could see she was inexperienced and innocent. My mouth watered. I quoted her a price. She fainted. I revived her using smelling salts. I knocked $500 off the quote and she hugged me.
I use material that I feel will get the job done. We built her an extension. It looked sturdy. It was sturdy. Until the storm hit. Afterwards, her house wound up on the news--total devastation.
She charged into my office holding a brick fragment, which she slammed on my desk. She cursed me out in two languages. Pulled out a carving knife and eyed my groin.
I offered her a discount to rebuild. Gave her my compassionate expression. She broke down and dropped the knife. I came around my desk to hug her and got a knee right in the groin.
Fortunately I always wore a cup. I am a contractor after all.
Unfortunately, the cup was made of the same cheap material as the bricks.