I turned 61 last month so discussing my underwear is not intended in anyway to resemble sex talk. Rather, it’s a reflection of the kind of stress I’m undergoing as we list our house on the real estate market.
I mentioned our House “editor” in a previous post who counseled us on “staging” (gosh I hate that word) our house to present it in the most favorable light. Well that staging has resulted in a considerable amount of work…replacing light fixtures with recessed lighting, painting every wall and door, re-carpeting, new faucets and door knobs, and storing funky artwork in a newly rented storage facility.
In the midst of readying our home for sale, I had arthroscopic knee surgery and my husband and I were in the throws of a busy time in our work-life. Escaping to the beach with our two noisy dogs seemed like the logical move. Anyone who might want to see the house (and there have been only a few) could do so unimpeded. In a distracted mood, I through a few items in an overnight case and literally crawled into the car (more than a little accurate considering my recent knee surgery) to head to our beach place.
Unpacking a few hours later I realized I had forgotten my underwear. Forgetting fundamentals, like underwear, seemed illustrative of the craziness of the past few weeks. Thank goodness for the Bealls Department store in New Smyrna Beach.
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