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.
p.s. Anyone have a rhyme for "lobsters?"
Merci bien, mon petit.
ReplyDelete(And I meant it to sting.)
--P.
Lobsters rhymes with mobsters. While you were denying the coffers of the Granite State your hard-earned ducats, I was having the police power of the state of FL and Orange Co. socking it to me in the chops for 7% all weekend long.
ReplyDeleteBastids.
I was going to suggest "mobsters" as well. As in: "Oh, there ain't no lobsters on me! There ain't no lobsters on me! There may be lobsters on some of you mobsters, but there ain't no lobsters on me!" But then, I drink a lot.
ReplyDeleteWait, what about "hob-nobsters"? As in, those who hob-nob? No? Okay, going to bed now.