If You Were Here

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This is not a true story, but was inspired by our adventures in suburban real estate. However, we quickly came to our senses and realized that buying a crumbling home by the lake was an incredibly stupid, potentially hazardous, ridiculously expensive, and almost-certain-to-end-our-marriage idea.

We did not purchase the house in this book.

We moved elsewhere.

This didn’t occur.

(Yet.)

XO,

Jen

P.S. I feel it’s important to note here that I love Stephenie Meyer. This might not make sense now, but it will later, I promise.

I blame HGTV for what happens next.

“No. No. Oh, hell, no.”

I’m standing upstairs in my office when I spot someone in an oversize hoodie and low-slung pants paint ORNESTEGA in puffy silver letters on the flat red bricks of the building across the street.

Which is a church.

I imagine the Lord probably has His own way of dealing with little thugs who deface houses of worship, but I can’t just stand here waiting for Him to scramble a swarm of locusts or turn rivers to blood. I imagine He’s got a lot on his plate right now, what with war, poverty, the Sudanese situation, and all those reality-show contestants asking for His divine guidance as they navigate their way through the obstacle course and into the Jell-O pit.

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