Me And My Big Mouth

 

By Rick Boettger

 

I’ll bet that’s a headline a lot of you have been lusting to read from me for a long time. Last month I wrote about my grand plans to sell our Olivia Street flat for a million smackers and See the World. “Quit winners” and “unleash the crazy.” I envisioned months at a time in Lisbon, Bonaire, the Maldives, bare-boating in Tonga, say four months in Rome, why not a couple of months in that bird sanctuary in Trinidad for Cynthia’s pleasure.

 

 

But oh damn. Yes, the wife. I had no idea how many of her friends read my column until they started calling her in support of her not letting me pluck her from paradise. One ol’ gal bent her ear for a solid hour.

 

 

And the upshot of all this Girl Power is that my dear sweet Tinkerbell is digging in her heels and refusing to sell. She is on the deed. We own this “Joint, with right of survivorship,” as they say. So it is not my simple decision. Yes, I could just run off on my own, but I’d miss my sweetie as much as she’d miss me.

 

 

 

And I’d be light the net $700,000 dollars the flat would yield. I’d be living modestly. I’ve done that before, in my youth, but we just flew business class nonstop from Madrid to Miami, ruining this simple Midwestern boy forever as far as modest living is concerned. So I’m stuck. Key West’s Golden Cage is further guarded by my wife’s iron resolve.

 

 

Oh, the regret! I should have kept my big mouth shut until I had suavely plied her to sign over a power of attorney for real estate transactions. Now, with her defenses up, I’d have to drug her and tell her she was signing, say, a petition for the Audubon Society, and then pressure a friendly Notary I have something on to validate the signature.

 

 

But even though Confucius or maybe it was Benjamin Franklin who wrote, “You are never too old to commit your first couple of felonies,” I am just too much of a goody two-shoes to do what it takes to realize my dreams. Darn. Chagrin. Shame. Uncommon feelings for me, and I’m not good at them.

 

 

Hmm. Maybe there is a Plan B. I have heard my now-dashed plans have generated a fair amount of discussion among other folks with similar options. I would not be surprised if there were another Key West couple with similarly divided opinions. So . . . I team up with the other traveler. I exchange my interest in my flat for the stay-home member’s interest in their home. Then we sell their home and use the proceeds for our modern-day Grand Tour.

 

 

Now just wait, this is not as crazy as it sounds. Cynthia would get to stay put, and have like-minded company instead of grumpy old Rick grousing about being permanently grounded. It doesn’t matter if it would be a man or woman who was the traveler, as sex and romance are out of the question; I’m sticking with Cynthia for that (something in our marriage vows).

 

 

The more I think this out, the better it sounds. Let’s make it more concrete. Say Bill and Mary own a smaller place, worth say $800k, with $500k net equity. Say Bill and I are the travelers. Mary gets to trade her half of the smaller place for my half of Olivia Street, an upgrade for her. We sell Bill and Mary’s old digs, and I am happy with $200k less of traveling money than I would have had with Cynthia.

 

 

Bill and I indulge our travel passions, staying in touch with Cynthia and Mary via Skype, taking turns going home to Olivia Street to visit, or even returning together, as the flat is big enough for four. Cynthia and Mary plant their tap roots and take vicarious joy, I assume, in seeing their hubbies so happy and fulfilled.

 

 

Yay! Every once in a while it is just plain fun putting the wacky I.Q. to good use. This is such a good plan! What could possibly go wrong? Any takers?

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