When I was single, I rented a charming, 500-sq. ft. duplex built in the 1920s.
It came complete with a black and white checkered kitchen floor, a glass-paned front door and a teeny butterfly garden overrun with flowering vines.
Before I moved in, I would “visit” my soon-to-be home during my lunch hour, sometimes bringing friends.
I needled “oohs” and…
