When I was about nine years old, my parents started toying with the idea of moving to San Francisco, and we flew out for a few days to look at houses. I remember this trip so vividly, mostly because for a city girl growing up in a smallish apartment, the idea of a for-real house was almost too exciting to handle. I remember seeing a house with a looping driveway bordered by weeping willows; another one with a huge, wide-open field out back and an exercise pool on the deck; a third one with a Spanish-style roof and a big staircase with a railing perfect for sliding down.

And then my parents - probably worried that I wouldn't want to leave my school and my friends - said, "If we move to San Francisco you can have a golden retriever puppy."

My bags were practically packed.

That I just unfroze the pipes in our basement all by myself.

LIKE A PROFESSIONAL.

(It's not actually that hard.)

The occasional Aerosmith concert or engagement party aside, we don't actually go out together in the city a whole lot. We mean to, we plan to...but whenever we hire a babysitter it ends up just sounding so much easier to go out somewhere around here rather than end our evening with a Metronorth ride and a taxi from the train station.

Lazy? Yes. But we're lazy. Ain't no shame.

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