People always want to know what’s behind a closed door.
Just think of me as your real estate concierge.
To have this mug, this tea, this chair, this laptop, this home, this time.
Stuff happens that makes us feel like we got the salt kicked out of us.
I am surprised but forgiving (as I suppress a desire to either laugh or be offended) when anybody suggests I’m only in it for the money.
The petite, muddy handprints of raccoons splayed over the outdoor cushions, reminding me there must have been quite a (wildlife) party last night.
“Things I Hear Myself Say”