As I winged my way home from a conference last week, wedged in a coach class seat designed for an undersized gymnast and having again successfully violated the "two carry-on" edict by bringing my purse, my laptop, and an entire Samsonite outlet store aboard, I found myself seated next to a man from my own neighborhood. We hadn't previously met, but armed with a common ZIP code, a friendly conversation ensued. Of course, it was a conversation about real estate. For the record, I didn't start it. In fact, I was far more interested studying my magazine, the one with all of the retouched pictures of people who are famous for no apparent reason. With a teenage daughter at home, I have to do my homework occasionally lest I be relegated to the "parents who aren't cool" category. And as I stared quizzically at the photo of some reality show starlet, wondering why the world needed to know who designed her dress that cost more than my daughter's first year of ...
by Amber Taufen | Today 12:27 P.M.
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