First, let's talk about where we are living. I realize I have regaled you with lots of fun details, but I would be remiss if I didn't get you up to speed on how opulent this little apartment continues to be. A new family of neighbors has moved in upstairs, and although I haven't had the pleasure of meeting them, I assume they must be a group of 400-pound giants who stomp around in lead boots. Over the weekend, Clint and I repeatedly asked each other whether the booming noises we heard were thunder, or the giants upstairs. In every instance, the answer was: giants. Our little summer home is serene.
The bedroom here hasn't failed even one night to make us feel like Hansel and Gretel in the witch's oven. Forget being a cover hog while we live at this address--we can't be generous enough in throwing the covers on the other poor, wilting, miserable person all night long. It's like a sleeping version of "Hot Potato." Our little summer home is cozy.
Last week, I killed a roach that was the size of my cell phone. I won't even be coy and call it a palmetto bug, as we Southerners are apt to do. This was an enormous, ugly, cockroach who probably came down from New York City in search of warmer winters and never returned. I could practically hear him say "fuggetaboutit" while I pummeled him with my shoe. I spray for bugs every other week around here; I'm afraid I'm going to exterminate the three of us in an effort to kill all the creepy, crawly, ever present bugs that are also rooming with us this summer. No matter what we do, everywhere I turn, something comes crawling out. The insects around here really want us to be a close-knit community. Our little summer home is infested.
The best part about our little summer home is that it is temporary. And its time is almost up. In the meantime, a nutritionist acquaintance of mine recommended a supplement to help ease these tense times and allegedly promote calmness. I'm taking the recommended dosage, but I'll be honest and tell you that some days it works better than others.
|"Supports Calm and Relaxation." Frankly, I'm not sure there's enough of this stuff in the world. |
But desperate times call for supplement measures.
As our time here draws to (please, God, please) a close, I still have questions about this charming pied-a-terre of ours that remain unanswered:
Why is the toilet paper holder on the wall across from the toilet--so far away that I have zero chance of reaching it? What do small children do?
How is the dog next door still barking? He has yapped nonstop for ten weeks now and I would think his throat would be scratchy. He is an ever-diligent nuisance/watchdog.
Is the girl at the pool who is approximately 11 months pregnant and wearing a string bikini every Saturday planning to actually give birth in the pool? Is that swimsuit going to burst at the seams? Both of those things seem highly likely. All I ask is that neither happen on my watch. The sheer force of my eye rolls is probably enough to induce labor, after all.
How is it possible that I need an overcoat and scarf to sit on the couch in the den, but spontaneously combust into a ball of flames in the bedroom? This place is 732-square feet--and there are temperature zones?
But enough bragging about our accommodations. Let me at least show you some of the work that's been done at our house.
This is our built-in banquette. One day it will even have upholstery.
|After all, who would want to leave all this? In a short, very enthusiastic answer: we do!|