My wife likes to kid me that, but for her, I would still be living in the run-down apartment I was living in when she first met me. I was a financially-strapped graduate student, living just across the river from Georgetown in Rosslyn. She was an undergraduate.
There is a lot of truth to what she says. We joke about a former soccer coach of hers who once instructed one of his players to “put some inertia on the ball,” and I suppose you could say I am subject to some of this same inertia – or, if you were to listen to the coach, “ertia” — myself. But I like to look at this in a positive way: I am very easy to please. With the sole exception of my BMW, and my suits, I don’t require much in the way of material comforts.
We are currently cleaning up our house to put on the market, with possible plans to move to Baltimore. The idea of trying to keep the place clean and of people traipsing through our house imagining how they would do things differently is daunting.
But I am a good husband, willing to meet my wife halfway. I grew up in the same house my mother still lives today, a house my parents built almost 60 years ago. My wife – a military brat – doesn’t feel right unless she is moving every couple of years. So we compromise: We’ve been in this house for just under four years. It is time to start thinking about moving again. I wonder if that place in Rosslyn is still available.
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