A blue sixties convertible in need of a new muffler just pulled up and off-loaded the realtor and her "open house" sign. I anticipate a 3-hour parade of gawkers peering over my fence, sizing up the neighborhood.
When the "for sale" sign went up this week, I checked out the deets and was completely surprised to find this in the charm-extolling text:
beach cabin getaway
Now, I've been on this street for going on 29 years, and how in god's name I've not noticed a beach is a complete conundrum. I know for certain that there's no beach in the back yard, so maybe I'm missing something in the view looking out to the street, as seen below —
architecturally interesting wood walls
cute, sweet, adorable and Kozy with a capital K!
Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear.
(Why I am not a realtor.)
Honestly though, I'd prefer a beach cabin getaway to one of those new million-dollar box houses that are popping up all over the city.
Adventures await, for sure.