Mrs. Roper

I need a caftan.  After stressing out for a couple of days about the guaranteed fat check I will have to write should I be so lucky to actually find a buyer for my home, I decided to take a gamble.

I will be a landlord.  Of course, I have no idea what I am doing, but when has that stopped me before.  Oh wait...well, it has stopped me every time.  But since "everything has changed", I will dive head first into the real estate rental market with my cute little house that is convenient to nothing.

Maybe in a year the market will recover a little.  Maybe someone will rent my home and decide they love it so much that they want to buy it and I can save the realtor commission.  Maybe I will find a long term renter who pays on time and is not trashy.  I have rented before, I was a good renter, surely there are more people like me out there in need of a home with 1.5 baths.  Maybe not, but I feel more comfortable taking the risk than suffering through the insulting process of selling my house to a low baller and then writing a check for the privilege.

My husband (someday I will get used to saying that) is on board with this, so that's good.  It is nice to make a decision with support.  A change in my work schedule for the week has prevented me from returning to my marital home, and I am just out of sorts about that.  Even though I am in my own house, the house that has provided me comfort and refuge for four years, I am uncomfortable and blue.  Should I pack something? What? Should I relax and enjoy the solitude for a while? Should I clean?  I feel as though I am away at a conference.

This weekend, I am moving half of my wardrobe to my "new" residence.  Home is where the clothes are.  Actually, home is where Harriet, the dog, is.  Ms. Harriet will also be moving her worldly possessions to her new home.  Since returning from Florida, Harriet has been a little weird.  She sits and looks at me as if to say, "You bitch."  I know what's going on here.  She is about to go from being head of household to just 1/4 of household.  She will have to share affection, lap space, and visibility with Forrest, Jim's dog.

But then, just as I was worrying about whether Harriet would ever forgive me for my betrayal...she issued her seal of approval:

Yes, I photographed my dog's pee pattern.  She has an uncanny ability to do punctuation marks as well, but I will save that for another post.