We bought our first home the day after we returned from our honeymoon. The house was owned by a married couple but the only seller we ever met was a uptight man in his 50s with a pot belly and a little mustache like Xavier Cugat. His idea of casual wear was a white dress shirt, all buttoned up and pair of pleated dress pants with a belt He had a PhD and the real-estate girl* kept referring to him as Doctor, which you know is a pretentiousaffectation outside of acedmia. . He had a sharp-tongued girlfriend of similar age who never spoke to us, only about us in a whisper into Cugie’s ear. I can’t remember all of the details now but I believe the only reference to the wife was regarding a pending divorce. We stayed in that house 6 years before we moved to the home we’re in now, but it still feels sometimes that it was the place where we spent most of our married life.
Due to a combination of crummy weather and innate laziness, I spent some time in front of the computer today googling that old address. Not mush except the ususal google map images and some helf-way information on real estate transactions and then boom:
What ho, Gussie! The wife of the uptight PhD got dragged out of a Watergate hearing for being disruptive. Isn’t that a fascinating find for a rainy Saturday afternoon?
*The real estate girl had no toenails on her master toes. I recollect that she said she had to have them removed due to fungus. Every time we met her she was wearing open-toed Candies wedgies. The places where the nails used to be were just areas of puckered skin on the toe top. It was a mesmerizing sight.