I feel I should warn my reading public (both of you) that I'm flying to Boston tomorrow morning way early. I'm heading to New Hampshire to close on a house and then spend Memorial Day Weekend with my family, no doubt freezing my ass off and being rained on.
However, I expect to drown my sorrows in lots and lots of lobster.
You know what's really, really ridiculous about this? I swear I'm buying this house because if I own a house literally steps from a place with its own lobster pound, etc., Joke will simply have to stop bragging about the freshness of the seafood where he lives. Won't he?
One can at least hope so.
At any rate, I shall return. Speaking fluent chowdah.
--P.
It's not the lobster that will get me to pipe down, but the fact you'll have digs in a state that is congenitally, pathologically, virulently anti-tax. (Can you tell we just had a fight over our property taxes?) Hey, you're the native Bostonian...is it possible to toss a decent-sized suburban house into the harbor? We could dress like Mohawks and drink Sam Adams Light, if that'd help.
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