Good Night, And Good Luck, Vermont

Turn off the lights, unplug the timer, afix the moving labels, and dig up the pet tombstones. My family’s Dorset house has been sold. Well, technically we still have about a week and a half to sabatoge the closing, scare off the buyers, and burn the house down because if we can’t have it then no one will, mawhahahaha. But we’re not bitter about all this. No, not bitter at all.

Long story short: my mom announced over the holidays that she’d not only put the house on the market, but also accepted the first offer. So–guess what, kids!–we gotta move everything out ASAP ’cause we’re closing in less than a month. In other words, our New Year’s was about as much fun as a funeral for the family dog, which, coincidentally, we had two of. Both Tiger and Suzie, our collie and lab, respectively, were still boxes of ashes waiting to be buried. We said our good byes to them, the house, our memories there, and Vermont in general. And then we took the twins sledding.

Right now my mom is taking care of the final formalities of the sale–the moving company, trying to withstand our constant bitching about the home sale, and overseeing the close. Above all, I’m bummed that, after so many happy New Year’s Eves at the house, our last one had to be overshadowed by its sale.

Alright, somebody call me the whaaaaaambulence.

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