There should be many more opportunities in life for adults to jump on trampolines. As a child, I basically pretended to be friends with a much younger girl who lived down the street, just so I could jump on her trampoline. As an adult, I gaze across my back yard and wonder whether, if I jumped on the neighbors’ trampoline while they were on vacation, the people on the far side of the fence would report me.

I have recently learned that the cure to my obsession is to move to San Francisco. Does this not look like the best place ever? It’s called the House of Air. And they’re looking for a general manager.

Pick me! Pick me!

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