Bruce has certainly picked up the new-house slack, due to my current work overload. He's packing boxes, ripping away at tape and writing "Fragile" in thick, black marker while I hole myself up in the study with books and the laptop.
While he was at work, he called and set up our electricity. He works for the gas company, so he took care of that, too. He's also been researching the best internet company for us.
The tables certainly have turned. When we decided to move away from the city, Bruce was commuting over an hour each way to his job in the suburbs. He was gone most of the day, so I was in charge of all those details. I remember setting up one service while riding the public bus, whispering my social security number into my cell with my hand over my mouth, eyes darting back and forth with paranoia, trying to gauge whether any of the other riders were listening in on my conversation.
Not this time. It's all Bruce, that wonderful, equal partner of mine.
The only problem is, we haven't gotten the clear to close. We were assured by our mortgage broker that we would have it by yesterday, then by today. So far, nothing. Our lawyer is getting impatient, continually drafting contingencies and copying us on the emails to the sellers' lawyer. In this last one, she actually wrote, "They expected the clear to close today and see what happened. Nada."
This does not leave us with a good feeling.
Are we getting a house in three days? Nobody seems to know...
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