Whoa...

Major progress at my rental house.  Information overload.  But strangely enough, I've been endowed with clarity.  Maybe all those years of audit experience has paid off.  The "awww, shucks" routine never fails.  Since I hate conflict, but more than that, the hard sell, the high-pressure sleazy attempt at charm never works on me.  Actually, it's counterproductive.  And I shouldn't admit it, but I take perverse pleasure in baiting the miscreant sales shits.  When I see that lust for lucre in their beady eyes, I mention "my Daddy's trust."  Gets 'em every time.  Never mind that it ain't no big thang, and there were practical reasons for starting it.  Seriously.  I'm definitely NOT a Trust Fund Baby.  Wouldn't wanna be.  And as it stands with Kiddo, I'm thinking of leaving it all to Lucy.  I'm not rich by any means, not alive, anyway.  But I do have a good bit in my retirement accounts, and a nice, fat life insurance policy.  Which I'm on the verge of assigning to a revocable trust.  Maybe that'll command some respect.  What I should do, however, is cancel the policy and use the premium to take a nice trip.  Or something.

I've had a bad week.  Or two.  But it's gonna get better.  I've booked a trip to see my best girl, Mel.  She's booked the room, and our flights are set, and our only plans are to jump on the bed, and talk all night until we fall asleep.  We'll hit the hotel bar and take some provocative pictures with random men, half our age, and text them to her husband.  There's a funny story about my last visit, but I'm too tired to tell it now. 

Oh, well.  Nothing more to say.  Except good night.