I was absolutely gobsmacked to see a "For Sale" sign on my neighbor's lawn yesterday when I walked home from work.
Yes, those neighbors. The performance arting, geodome building, dead baby garden planting, talking all night about nothing on the porch, party throwing neighbors.
On the one hand, I'm tempted to clean up my yard to help them sell. On the other hand, I'm tempted to throw a pig roast every weekend in order to disrupt any open houses.
I did however hatch out a plot of a romantic comedy novel that I should pen based on this development. Should I? I don't want to say any more, but I sketched the whole thing out last night while cooking and I think I could do a good job--think P.G. Wodehouse and Jane Austen tackling the woes of a declining Midwestern real estate market.