About ten years ago, when I was married, my husband and I moved to a new state. There were a few delays in getting into our house. Our real estate lady found us a temporary host, an aging widower. For the next six weeks, I hoisted my pregnant carcus up and down a flight of shakey stairs leading to three rooms atop a garage. Our landlord, who managed to command a rather princely rent, viewed us a sort of a ...
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