I'm happy to report that my theory was wrong: the secret to a happy marriage is not separate bathrooms. Not at all. It's a WORKING bathroom. We did manage to stay together through three weeks of shared accommodations, but the moment we "moved in together" the sole remaining shower broke, and we were reduced to dumping water over our heads in the bathtub. (OK, I could have taken a bath. But how do you wash your hair?) It's a good thing my remaining modesty was lost during the massage incident in China, because when I finally moved back into the lovely new bathroom that was built for the new owners and I will only have a few weeks or months to enjoy, we had no curtains/blinds for a week. I certainly hope no one's life is that boring and pathetic that this would have been an interesting show (if so, I'll consider it my contribution to charity). But I guess it's a good thing we slapped a stop-work order on the carry-out pizza place they're building right behind us, no need to provide free entertainment. It's all taken something of a toll on Allen, who as I write this is hooking himself up to electrodes, wetting the pads and plugging in the electric current. I'll stop if I smell smoke.
The house goes on the market right after Labor Day, and we're doing our best to give it that uninhabited, model-showroom look. And since we don't want to be sued if someone were to open a closet and have it all rain down on their head, we had to rent a little storage locker down the street, in a non-climate controlled upper floor of a warehouse. I guess if I like doing yoga at 110 degrees, I shouldn't complain about unloading boxes at 115. But I will, because as fast as I'm moving stuff out, Allen is bringing in more through his e-bay addiction. Someone destroy that man's password!
Two weeks till our break at the beach, which will be in Aruba, since that turned out to be cheaper (airfare and all) than a week in Ocean City. And, as an added benefit, we won't need to scrub ourselves with disinfectant each time we swim.
