The Boston Skinny House is for sale. I am the most appropriate resident alive in the world at this time, so if somebody has $900,000 lying around and really wants me to move back to the U.S., this is your chance.
If you have visited me in Massachusetts in the last 20 years, there is a 90% likelihood I have taken you to buy a plastic container of tiramisu from Bova’s Bakery and walk up to Copp’s Hill Burial Ground and look at the impressions left in gravestones by Revolutionary War musket balls. And I have pointed out the 10-foot-wide house across the precariously steep street, for the simple reason that the words “spite house” and Romie go together perfectly.
If you want to buy it for you instead of me, that’s okay too. But I think one of us needs to have this.
Emily says: As a kid I had a book on ghosts with a whole chapter on haunted spite houses, with the unarguable logic being that it is spite – not love – that will survive after death.
Romie: I like the idea that my grouchiness is a sign of my immortality.