It was still a mystery to Frank how chocolate chip cookies had anything to do with selling a house. But he wasn’t complaining.
“If you ask me,” Frank commented between gulps of milk, “we should’ve done this a long time ago.”
“Oh, Frank, will it ever sell?”
“Yes, Martha, probably all too soon.”
Martha sighed, “I know. I have to admit I’m relieved when we don’t get an offer. But then I see those stairs between me and the bed every night and wonder just how much longer I can do it.”
“I’ll get you up there, just put you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“Right, a few more cookies and we’ll have to roll you out of that chair. And wipe your mouth, Frank.”
“I guess no one’s falling for the cookie smell. Imagine if they’d looked at the house back when we had that dog of yours.”
“My dog? Of course it was my dog after you and the kids stopped taking care of it.”
Frank chuckled, “Never could get that girl trained.”
“Or what about the science experiment that almost burned my kitchen down? Come to think of it, seems like there was more than one of those.”
“Now, Martha, you know I was a business man. All those projects the kids brought home,” Frank shook his head. “I think I lost my eyebrows once.”
“And all the varmints Billy snuck in that died under the bed, in the closets, behind the couch…”
“Shew,” laughed Frank, “It’s funny now, but I sure wasn’t laughing then.”
“Ah, the memories.”
“You know, Martha, I’m glad our house didn’t always smell like chocolate chip cookies.”
“Me too, Frank, me too.”
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