As I type these words I am awaiting a knock at the door from the repo man.
He’s coming to get my beloved motor home. Unemployed for four months now, I must let her go. (I say “her” because men always give cars, boats and RVs women’s names. We love them, ya know? We really, really do. But at this point I’m glad I never named her.)
It’s just a thing. Just stuff.
Frankly, I’ll be glad to have it out of the driveway where it was a constant, nagging reminder of my income shortage.
Carolann and I had a couple of years of great comfort, relaxation and good times in and around our motor home.
The repo man can’t take away the good times.
That last sentence? Damn right.