La Casa de Tontería is not just a nice little place to rest my weary head; it’s a casually elegant domicile in a historically undervalued neighborhood.
In other words, the talk with the tax assessor didn’t go well.
In addition, the section of privacy fence that I want to replace now requires a permit. That means if my neighbor’s rotten fence falls down, he must buy a permit to replace it.
And that means I will have to pay for a new privacy fence and/or sue him into the ever-loving ground. Normally I would never consider hiring a lawyer, but now I’m living laaaaaarge!
I also have a sudden urge to eat fish eggs,
sexually harass date a male underwear model, and take up golf, too. But I’ll have to contain myself – for now – since there are more pressing expenses.
On a related note, an acquaintance told me about how she and her husband are preparing for their move to a small house (not in my neighborhood because they are merely middle-class retirees). They decided to pack up their favorite things first, but as they went through closets, they realized their favorite things are hidden away. They were saving those things for special occasions.
We weren’t talking about tuxedos and gold-trimmed goblets, either. Just that hand-tooled leather belt that her husband likes so much that he doesn’t wear it very much. And the white dishes that aren’t fancy but look better than the clunky stoneware they use every day.
“Make your wonderful things your everyday things!” she told me. (And yes, she really did exclaim it.)
So I threw out the threadbare bed set and took out the for-company, high-thread count, lavender set. It looks and feels much better.
And it will do nicely until I purchase bedsheets handwoven from the silk of worms raised on non-GMO mulberry leaves.