In which Skellington dreams of becoming a member of the Landed Gentry

[shadesofmauve]

My work situation is iffy. Freelancing has dried up in the last few months. Not a time to be contemplating major purchases, unless...unless, perhaps, that purchase is a house, who's market value is tanking and interest rates are low.

Yes, my dear friends and compatriots, I aspire to raise myself to the Landed Class.

I'm intensely interested in two places on Tumwater hill, and vaguely intrigued by a smaller one downtown. I would have to have the bother of taking tenants, of course (madalchemist and notyourroommate, you'd be up for that, right?), whom I might in my generosity allow to sharecrop my land and raise their small amounts of livestock. And by livestock, I mean Islington, Michelle's rabbit.

Yes, I seek a spot among the landed gentry.

After all, with that and a penis, I could vote in 1800.

Comments

[shadesofmauve]

Ahh, icky paint! That changes so much from paint to paint. I'm sorry you got a bad one.

I particularly remember the afternoon Dad and I painted up under the eaves of the house, and had paint on our hair, faces, shoulders, etc. We stood in the yard with a jar of white spirit each, grooming each other. It wasn't quite a shower in it, but it was fairly extreme.

My skin can be a bit sensitive. It gets very, very dry. Through repeated exposure (like you get if working on an oil painting every day and having the solvent drip down the brush), it gets dry and cracks. Then you get solvent IN the cracks, which burns. Then you get blood dripping on the floor. Then you learn about the Glory of Gloves.

It's never hit me that bad while doing DIY stuff because you usually aren't exposed to solvent for hours, just at clean-up time.