1938 Packard

She was still awake when I left.

No.

It's a toy my niece was playing with all night.

It looks like Betty Boop and Bjork had a baby.

Mine. It's for sale.

Yes.

It's called taking some responsibility. I don't chase imaginary rainbos. I work.

Yes. She's retired now. Wants to sell the house and move into a condo.

My mother didn't raise any boomerangs.

Don't drag that in here. Save it for a smoking thread.

Someplace else in the metaverse, trying to assess the new circumstances.

Ever.

It's like so totally the Land of What If

That's not what they say.

Did the speed boat thing last visit.

Hardly.

And an uncle who owns apartment buildings.

Not really. My mother is an empty nester. That's all the dynamic we need.

Not at all the case. When you can't afford to buy that house in Newport, Rhode Island, shoot for an apartment. Can't afford the apartment, either? Two options... rooming house or crowd renting.

That's what they all say. Unless the parents happen to be spoon fed invalids who can't be left unsupervised and the live at home kids have overtaken the entire operation from getting every single bill paid to keeping the house in good repair, that excuse doesn't wash.

It's called change and growth, either way... to maturity.

For the very same reason a child should be out of diapers and using toilets like a big boy before age three.

The Waltons aren't real.

But are the parents really benefiting? I don't have to eat every orange off the tree to know what an orange tastes like.