When Slobo gets milk at our local Texaco every other day, he checks the latest color of the real estate brochures while he’s there. He told me about a talk show where they were talking about women’s bathroom porn. #1 was real estate lsitings. Who knew there were other addicts out there too?

I’ve always been a real estate addict – long before I could ever buy one. My brothers test drove cars as teenagers, I checked out architectural styles and open houses. And yes, I’m even guilty of driving around the city at dinner time so I can peek in windows to see if anyone paints their walls. That’s terrible. I know it. I don’t care what their doing, I just want to know how they decorated. Shameful isn’t it? It must have been my mother’s fault. You know, those evening walks in the 70′s suburban neighborhoods. That’s what people did for entertainment.

You know it’s reached an all-time breaking point, when the kids go with us to Texaco and yell from the truck for Daddy to pick them each one up too. We are going to be in for it. Not only will they have my addiction to real estate listings but they are budding car addicts too. Our oldest was offered a job, when he was 5, from the tire guy and hasn’t forgotten it, four years later. Often he’ll say, I want to work with that tire guy, but I want to build houses too when I grow up. Maybe I can do both of them. He’s already decided his brother, who is into gardening, can be the landscaper and his other brother can be the ‘worker man’. Not sure what he means by that, maybe he’s going to be the architect or the rich guy – not sure which yet. Maybe I better stop tacking blueprints from Southern Living’s House of the month on the fridge. At least until they understand the cost of things.

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