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From The Publisher's Desk
Some people like surprises. Others don’t. I’m one of the latter. I prefer to know what’s coming rather than be caught unaware. For my 50th birthday, a girlfriend organized a surprise party. I thought it was just the two of us going out for Mexican food until she left our table and poked her head around the corner of the adjoining banquet room. I knew instantly that I’d be getting my picture taken in a sombrero.
I sure hope Rick likes surprises. You’d think that after more than 10 years together, I’d know. Doesn’t really matter because it’s too late now.
When Rick and I viewed the home that we would own — the one we live in now — it was a work in progress. We made an offer before the house went on the market and wanted to buy it immediately and complete the work ourselves.
For some reason known only to the sellers, they insisted on painting the interior, installing carpet and putting some final personal touches on the house. While we waited anxiously to close escrow and move out of the rental from hell (no offense, Norma), the sellers employed a handyman to paint every interior wall pink. The Walmart paint can is labeled Sand, but it’s definitely pink sand.
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