This is odd, even for California.
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Adam is always telling me that I drive too fast, too recklessly, especially on our street. So you can imagine my delight when, at a party, one of our neighbors said, "Are you the guy in the BMW who nearly runs me over all the time?" That's Adam's car, which I can't drive it because it's stick-shift.
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One of the best Christmas gifts I got this year was something I gave Adam. (That's marriage for you.) It's an electric candle lighter—a current zaps between the little prongs like a device in Dr. Frankenstein's lab—that charges via USB. It's a giant leap forward from the butane ones. I also gave him a vintage snuffer that's more fun to use than you'd ever imagine.
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Today at the house, we discovered that the kitchen window is busted. We're both exhausted by the damn place, and any goodwill I might have felt for the former owners is long gone. (That's what cleaning someone else's filthy kitchen cabinets will do to you.) Truthfully, it was gone when I saw the bonkers letters that one has been writing to the local paper.
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The spy game ain't what it used to be.