Wear capris – and this was so long ago I was still calling them pedal pushers. Now having my ankles covered after May 31st feels like corporal punishment.
Sell our lake house, a life-long dream of mine. But you know how it is. First the kids grow up and move to other states, you get that psychotic neighbor who chips away at the magic, and then the septic decides to seep through the basement wall and the cost of a new system is $35,000.
That’ll do it.
Ever have anything except homemade cookies in the jar. But, again - kids moving away. And homemade cookies are lethally good, so it’s not the best idea for the two of us remaining here to consume 2500 calories after dinner every night. And no matter what you tell yourself, oatmeal cookies filled with raisins and walnuts (let’s not mention the entire stick of butter and all that brown sugar) are not a good substitute for lunch.
Buy an artificial Christmas tree. But that was before the time My Guy was out of town for weeks, the holiday was closing in, and I drove out in a sleet storm after an exhausting day at work to grab the first tree I could lay my hands on and strap to the car. It still didn’t get in the house any time soon since I needed him to help me get it in the house and wrestle it into the laughably inadequate holder. (That later leaked water all over the floor.)
Ironically, both my kids both married into the Jewish faith, plus, come December, the grandkids are happy with any big green object surrounded by piles of presents in the living room.
Anyone else out there have any famous last words?