This is odd, even for California.
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.
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.
The spy game ain't what it used to be.