I am buying a house. It's beautiful. I'm in love with it. There is a huge master suite that includes a fabulous walk-in closet, bedroom designed for a king (and queen), and a bathroom with dual sinks a shower AND a tub, and a toilet in a room all by itself, then there is an enormous living room with an adjoining Florida room, and three, count 'em, THREE bay windows. The house is planted sweetly on a just quarter-acre lot with woods on three sides, settled a decent distance into a country club right on the Rainbow River. It is perfect. Truly perfect.
I never told you this story, but when I was a three, I had to have physical therapy for a broken femur. Every single day we drove to PT, we went over a small, fairly insignificant overpass with had a shopping plaza below it. The address for the shopping plaza was just barely visible over the bridge. And it was 603. And every single day as we went over, I would excitedly blurt out the numbers to show my mom I recognized them. This turned into a game for us. And eventually, a tradition. Fast forward into my "more grown up" ages ... like ... high school. And, if you could be a fly in my truck, you would have without a doubt witnessed me driving over the overpass by myself and, sure enough, I'd just say it ... "six oh three." Shortly after high school is when I met Seth, Tommy, Leif, Troy, and Jonesy in Gainesville. Still, there was no connection. Their friends and families came to visit, we then bonded, they returned home, and still, nothing. It wasn't until th...
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Congrats!