Sign of the end times

I’m not sure how to break it to you. I know you will be disappointed in me. Angry, freaked out—I am too! OK, here it is: I bought replacement windows. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggh. Yes, new windows, I just ordered them. But see, they’re going to replace the lousy vinyl windows in the back bedroom—the room that has the fewest nifty original details anyway. So at least they’re not going into a space that currently has original windows. And my manly cohort points out that I actually bought a bunch of replacement windows when I bought the house—7 of them, and it’s only 2 I could commit to replacing now. Luckily, when I bought the house I also bought a floor’s worth of original windows. And I’m getting a tax credit for these. And they’re wood. And I’m ponying up for the old-style upgrades, so they won’t enrage my eyes every time I go in there.

But, whew, it was really hard to march myself into the store and order new windows. I am so much happier restoring old ones.

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