Awful Old People

“Hey,” I said from the passenger seat as Mike drove past a cute house for sale, “that would be a great house for Drake.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, peering out the side window. “Do you think we will remember to look it up when we get home?”

“Not a chance.”

“Hmm,” he said, thoughtful. “Look up the house, look up the house, look up the house. Maybe if I chant it over and over I’ll remember by the time I get home.”

“Look up the house, look up the house,” I joined in. After a solid minute of chanting we drove four blocks in silence.

“What are you thinking?” Mike asked.

“House, house, house, house,” I answered.

“House, house, house, house,” he joined in.

“HO– USE, HO– USE,” I shouted toward the windshield.

“We are going to be awful old people,” Mike shook his head.

“The worst.”

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