Sometimes I'm A Little Slow

So Trixie and I went over to our previous house last night to clean it up a bit for the new owner. We close on that house on Friday.

I really saw no sense in cleaning the damn place for the guy, for two reasons:

1. It really wasn't dirty.
2. The guy has been a pain in the ass since the moment he wrote the contract on the house.

So, naturally, I was questioning Trixie's line of thinking, asking her why in the hell does she want to do any favors for a guy who's been nothing but a headache? FUCK HIM.

So we cleaned for about an hour and packed up the last of our belongings.

Then I got it.

They say a woman's heart is as deep as the oceans. Mine must be a fountain.

She didn't want to clean the house.

She wanted to spend just a little while longer there.

She wanted to remember the good times there.

She wanted to think about the struggles there.

She wanted to consume it just one last time.

She wanted to remember all the "firsts" there.

We took one last look out at the yard, strolled around the trees and laughed as we recalled a story here and there.

We closed the door, and then we left.