When a teenager knocked on my door asking to mow my lawn, I thought he was just looking for summer work. It wasn’t until I caught him inside my locked garage that I realized he’d been coming to my house for a reason he was too afraid to tell me.
I signed the papers on my new house on a Thursday.
By Saturday morning, I was standing in the front yard wondering why I’d ever thought homeownership sounded relaxing.
The lawn looked like it had surrendered weeks ago.
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