So here I am in New Hampshire. The closing didn't go smoothly (do they ever?) so I wasn't a property owner in The Granite State until yesterday afternoon at some point or other.
I wasn't actually there; I was frivoling away the afternoon at the Portsmouth Children's Museum, instead. So I don't know precisely when it was that I ceased to be 100 percent Wholesome Midwesterner and became 25 percent tax-allergic penny-pinching Yankee.
I'm hoping that this magical moment occurred when I was purchasing trinkets in the Children's Museum gift shop and not paying sales tax. Wouldn't that be poetic justice?
Speaking of poetry, now that I am at least a semi-resident of New Hampshire, before the weekend is up, I expect to write a sonnet about the local wildlife, if any, a la Robert Frost.
But don't worry; I won't post it.
p.s. Anyone have a rhyme for "lobsters?"