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Get thee gone, repo man!
 I was just awakened from a sound sleep by the friendly local repo man here in South Florida.  No, he wasn't after my stuff!  

We bought our home this past summer, a foreclosure like most other houses for sale in Florida. It was a good deal for a pretty nice corner house, even though it needed a little work here and there.  For example, the former occupants took off with the stove - easily remedied at Home Depot.

But for the third time now, counting this evening, we've been visited by a repo man seeking a gold Range Rover from the poor fellow who previously owned the house. Before we lived here I had only seen repo men on television or the movies.  Now I can identify them just by the distinctive way they have of pounding on ones door in the middle of the night. In the past we were congenial enough with these 'retrieval professionals', but now it's really getting old.

In time-honored redneck tradition, Hubby went out front in his underwear.  He vigorously made the point that, "As you can see, there is no goddamned gold Range Rover in this driveway."  In rather blunt and forceful terms, he further encouraged the repossession agent to depart and never return.  He's so adorable.


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