My brothers, cousins and I have spent several hours each cleaning Aunt Y's home. Not to tell tales out of school, but she was a hoarder. Example: 6 coffee pots, 8 ice buckets. Hundreds of plastic grocery bags she must have lifted off the hook in the store as they were new. Hundreds of packages of Sweet 'N Low (which she never used). It's a wonder the restaurants didn't go bankrupt.
My brother, Phil, is the executor of her estate. He asks if there is anything of hers I want. What could I possibly want from this house? Sweet 'N Low? Outdated cans of tomatoes? I look at Phil as if to say: is this a trick question? He gives me a little statue of two skiers to add to Misfit Village (my Christmas village where nothing matches which drives him crazy).
During my break, Aunt X asks me to give her a pedicure. Here we go again. This is how I tore the meniscus in my knees back in 2007 when I gave Aunt Y a pedicure. Granted, I was 70 pounds heavier and on my knees at a bad angle for over an hour.
Looking for the nail polish (almost all of which is dried out), I find a note in hAunt Y's toiletries drawer. She must have written it just a short while ago as the handwriting is very shaky. The words don't quite make sense at first. I put my eyeglasses on (probably should have them on anyway if I'm doing my aunt's toes for the wedding this weekend).
I can see better now. What's this? The note reads: "I love M."
Who knew there was something this valuable in this house?
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