I really have got to get of the house.
I know what you’re saying: Lanette, Governor Hogan has declared us "free"; real estate is an essential business, and we agents can leave the house and go forth and sell, sell, sell to our heart’s content.
What I am saying, however, is something else altogether: I suffer from asthma, I am allergic to every irritant known to man (and some not-so-well-known), and I’m old af. All of these factors add up to one inevitable conclusion - I ain’t going a damn place. Therefore, if the real-estating that buyers and sellers require of me can’t get done within the confines of my technologically, well-equipped Bel Air residence, it ain’t getting done. Periodt.
Which leads me to a rather crucial point...I really have got to get out of the house.
First off, my children are no longer talking to me because, when I tell you that my Scrabble game is real, well...that’s exactly what I mean.
Funny thing is, it all started out so well.
However, a mandatory stay-in-place order that translated to much-needed quality time with my family quickly morphed into something weird and other-worldly. The board game beat-downs that momma has been handing out on the regular have been ugly, and - frankly - that’s all I’m willing to say on that front.
Secondly, how many home-made carrot cakes, red velvet cakes, snickerdoodles, chocolate chip cookies, and oatmeal raisin cookies can one household tolerate?**
I mean, really?
Lastly, I adore my Ravens, but if I have to watch another NFL re-run, I am going to scream, and then I’m going to be forced to take my husband out…and that would be especially tragic because I really do love him so.
Thing is – I absolutely have a point to make, and that point is…I really have got to get of this damn house.
**Apparently 2, 1, 3 dozen, 5 dozen, and 4 dozen; respectively. Maybe I should ask how many home-made goodies my already-wide arse can tolerate – but I digress.