The title alone should tell you why we’re moving out of a $3,200-a-month apartment. That is—pardon my language—a sh*t-ton of money going out the window every month—for a place we can never call our own. Never!
When I inevitably trip on something, my face will land on the still-scalding stovetop, which will result in the unfortunate nickname Sammy Grillface Jr.
“An RV? Hon . . . I enjoy camping, but after two days . . . I wanna scream. Where will you put all your things? You’ll have to sell everything, and I want you to have nice things!”