my name is not susan

My husband was singing tonight as he was cooking his ham and eggs for dinner. An old Whitney Houston song, he says, called "My name is not Susan." It went something like this:

My name is not Susan, and neither is it Bob.
My name is not Melindrobal, cause that is not a name.
My name is not Carlito, cause I am not Italian.
My name is not Ham-boy, but I wish it was.
My name is not Natasha cause I am not a girl.
My name is Alfred cause that is a real name.
My name is not Susan, and neither is it Vern.

I helpfully suggested that perhaps his name was Whitney, as he claimed it was one of her songs, but he just looked offended. Neither of us suggested "Magnus" as an option. I wish I could think of some of the other lines but honestly, I was trying to not encourage him too much so was engrossed in my book. Or I was trying to be engrossed, anyway, but I read the same paragraph for ten minutes.

In house news, our closing is on Tuesday at 4:00 pm. We scheduled a final walk-through for Monday evening with the realtor, and the insurance papers have arrived and look just fine. We drove out there this afternoon and poked around the yard, looking at falling branches and mole holes and splashblocks. I am so excited that I'm having a hard time thinking about anything else. We're going to have so much space! Time is moving by soo slooowwwwwlllly. Probably should go make it move more quickly. One nap, coming up...