I must have been a southern belle in another life, because there's nothing else that explains my penchant for shots of tequila, being called "maam" in bed, and getting my ass smacked with a Bible.
Jesus, Mary, and John 3:16!
Oh, and my inability to get the fuck out of the South for any longer than 8 months.
Clearly living with my in-laws has created what I'm calling "Real-Estate Desperation" or better "I don't care where the fuck I live so long as I'm not living here any more."
But really, we decided that as far as quality of life and bang for the buck go, Atlanta was probably our better choice. Of course, this was after my husband called me on Tuesday to tell me he had put a house under contract and I nearly freaked the fuck out with what can only be described as "Mom's Gone Wild."
I guess my pleas for deliverance fell upon attentive ears and we now own a house in Atlanta.
A house that I have yet to see in person.
See what living with the in-laws does to you?
But really, in this particular case, I'm not so concerned about the specifics. It's new, it's big, and it's ALL OURS. And considering my father-in-law apparently felt that enough time had passed that it was okay to make a funny sex joke -- "I bet you guys will stop at the motel on the way home - ha ha ha" (after picking up my husband from the airport tonight) -- clearly there is no need for me to be picky.
So amidst my quiet (and sometimes loud) inner whinings about leaving my dear old and new friends and family for the South (again), I realize that it's the best thing for us right now. At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
God. I sound like such an adult.