From time to time the Farm Manager comes up with a plan to pack in this old farm and "retire" to the city. That's because four-fifths of the Juniors are in the general neighbourhood and we'd get to see them more often.
Now, I figure we'd get to see them more often if they bothered to come up here more often, but what the hell, the FM has a point. They're young folks with busy lives and we're old people with nothing better to do than six hours of driving every time we want to have a two hour visit with any one of them.
Ergo, we should sell the farm and move to the city.
And do what?
We've done the math. Things would be tight. We don't want to spend our golden years having to choose between the Netflix subscription and another bottle of wine.
So we're gonna have to work. The FM came up with the perfect scenario; she could get a part time gig at the liquor store, and I could get a part time gig at a marijuana dispensary.
Ya right... how long do you imagine that scenario is gonna last?
Besides, I see other issues around moving to the city. For one thing, I've never been completely domesticated. Out here at Falling Downs, when nature calls, no worries!
I just take a piss off the front porch!
How many times do you figure I'll be pissing off my tenth floor balcony on Yonge Street before people start to talk? And you know where that's gonna go...
Ya, you'll be reading my name in the Toronto Sun, that's where.