So I suppose the prospects of my beatification hinge upon the fact that we didn't actually engage in hand-to-hand combat from Friday evening through late Sunday afternoon, the length of this week's reunion.
Imagine that - St. Big Mike!
We did get some good news Friday when the owners of a terrific country home took us up on our offer to make a contingency offer (is that an offer once removed?) They've found a new place but, like everyone else in the United States, are stuck waiting for someone to take their current home off their hands. It's a nation of time-biders right now. I get the feeling that some family, somewhere - say, Enid, Oklahoma - will get a solid offer on their home Wednesday afternoon, setting in motion the domino fall of several million sales that will cause real estate agents everywhere to swoon in delirium.
Not to mention The Loved One and me. We haven't got a single offer yet, even though our home has been on the market for more than two months and, if I do say so myself, is quite a joint.
That's all for now. Gotta shave (head and face) and dress like an adult. I'm headed up to Bloomington, Indiana later this morning for an afternoon chock-full of interviews with people from a gigantic corporation who seem interested in my services as a copywriter. Hmm.
The last of the great free agents trading in his normal workaday attire (boxer shorts, coffee-stained T-shirt and flip-flops) for a collared shirt and pleated trousers? Can it be? Stay tuned.
