Thursday, April 9, 2009

Now I'll never convince him we don't live in Mayberry

When hubby and I married (it will be seven years this month), he moved to North Carolina from the DC area to live with me. We bought a house, where he realized his dream of moving to "the country" where he could have a big back yard with space for a garden and fruit trees.

I remember the first time I got really pissed with him. I came home from my part-time real estate work to find the garage open, the door unlocked, and no hubby in sight. I closed the doors, looked everywhere inside, called all over the yard, and finally locked myself in. Then he came home grinning that he could see me all the time, from his perch on the lot down the street where another house was under construction.

I tried my best to convince him that there had been burglaries in the neighborhood, most often by way of open garages and unlocked doors. He grinned and mumbled something about Sheriff Taylor. He did get start locking the door at night, probably just to appease me.

It's been seven years now, and we haven't had a break-in, but I make sure he sees the neighborhood watch statistics on break-ins.

So yesterday when he decided to get rid of his old lawn mower, now that he has a new one to zip him about on the back forty, he left it in the driveway, thinking someone would take it off his hands. Just about dark, a neighbor called, to tell us we had left the lawn mower in the driveway. I looked at hubby, and he laughed. "Maybe somebody will take it, and I won't have to make a trip to the dump."

Guess what was in the driveway this morning.

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