The Runaway Realtor

Recently my dad's best friend of about 40 years has been coming over to the house a lot more. He used to be busy running errands with his wife or going to work, but as of recently has a lot more time on his hands. 

"Hey, how are you?" asked my dad.

"Uh, not that great." he replied on the phone, according to my dad. Dad told me he thought he was just sick. "My wife left me."

His wife, and our friend, had suddenly announced her intentions to divorce him and backed a Uhaul truck up to the comfy rancher-style home they bought together and took her clothes, dogs, and other things. According to the motivational speaker she's been following, you have to follow your dreams to get what you want in life, purge the poison in your life, the poisonous people telling you you can't have what you have always dreamed of. 

My dad's friend was notorious for never spending money, for his ex-wife, his child, anyone. Not until her. He invested in a Prius, a redneck's kryptonite, for their failed dog poop-scooping business. He built her a home office, allowed her to have a tiny toy poodle, went on road trips together, happily spent time with her daughter (his step-daughter), calling her his own. 

I of course don't know her side of the story, considering she has cut most of her contact with loved ones, for a brief moment even her daughter. But if you need a summary,she left him, their home, their trailer they took road trips on together, and their life behind so she could have everything she ever wanted.

 

Gretchen is currently stumped on her first paper of the semester, and is procrastinating from writing with other writing.