There was a dedication on one of the Pete Townshend solo albums from the early 1980s that stuck with me most of my life. It went something like, "Special thanks to Remy Martin cognac for saving my life by making the bloody stuff so expensive." I always wondered about what made it so compelling, but never enough to shell out enough to buy a bottle or even a single glass at a bar. Recently, a half a bottle fell into our possession, so I was able to satisfy my curiosity. Wow, it was not what I expected. Either that, or we acquired an exceptionally strong variety. I've only just now gotten around to trying a second glass. I made the mistake of taking a sip at the exact moment that Mr Smart Alec made a dorky joke. That was two hours ago and my throats still hurts from trying to aspirate that deadly brew. Maybe this was what Pete Townshend was referring to.
I held another open house this afternoon, after the football game. We lowered our asking price by a hundred bucks a month, and used one of the listing services that my friend recommended. I got an email yesterday from someone who saw it on Zillow, and on the way to the open house, another person who saw the ad called me about it. Person one was an anonymous name on email from out of state. Person two came by to view the house in person, and I'm fairly certain she can move in sooner. If I don't have to leave the place open another month for someone who hasn't even seen it yet, I don't want to. But as of yet, no one, not email guy, in person woman, nor either of the others who walked through today, has submitted an application. I do not yet know what tomorrow will hold.
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