It started over a year ago. After years of arguing with Mark, wooing him with summers in Chicago, and out and out bribery (I promised him a gourmet kitchen), we are finally... well almost finally, moving into the Chicago home I have dreamed of. Last year we were teased with a contract on our Florida home only to have it ripped away like a kid dropping a one dollar bill tied to a string in front of a homeless man. Then after a few thousand people tramped through our house led by our hapless real estate agent, we got another contract. This time it was Columbians who saw something in our place and made an offer. Unfortunately, after two months of waiting for the closing we were informed that the Columbians needed another month to "Bring the cash into the country in small amounts." I'm not sure if they rolled it up into ten thousand dollar wads and shoved it up their asses, but I was over it. So I cancelled the contract. That turned out to be a good move. Our new real estate agent, a good friend and neighbor, sold our house in four days for forty thousand dollars more than the Columbians were willing to pay. Now I am in the process of closing this Friday. I have emailed, faxed, mailed, overnighted, signed, and opened myself up to the bank for the last month and a half. The final moment is approaching fast, the light at the end of the tunnel is within sight. I am giddy with excitement. In anticipation of the hundreds of pages I will have to sign on Friday, I have exercised my right hand, and got into shape so that it won't cramp up halfway through the closing. Yes, I am ready. Just don't ask how I exercised that right hand.