You know, it’s amazing how fast you get used to living in a funeral home. I mean, it can be a little weird. For example, where most basements have, like, bowling trophies in old cardboard boxes and Christmas decorations in big plastic bins, our basement has freezer drawers and floor drains and other stuff you don’t want to think too hard about. And then there’s the attack peacock and the endless work in the fancy garden that I’m thinking we could pave for extra parking. But if I avoid the part of the house with the shining wood and the stained glass and the crying people, and if I don’t have
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