her lovely home on Maple Lane.
It's Maple Lane. Can you even? I feel like we should all be making pies, wearing aprons, writing novels in our copious free time, petting the beagle, lighting sparklers, listening to grandpa tinker in the garage, watching the clouds, putting on a parade, you know, like this is freaking AMERICA.
Too late to move?
Someone should buy it. Someone who will still invite me to lunch and cut me dinner plate dahlias to take with me when I go back to my house with the no garden.