It's the little things you do together
I know that managing a household really shouldn't be this much work. I mean, I did it in grad school, and it really wasn't a big deal. Is it just the India factor, or is it normal for one's lifestyle to evolve to the point of requiring a domestic partner?
The doorbell rang during breakfast this morning (Saturday, so the noon-ish part of morning). It was two grinning and somewhat grubbily-dressed men, announcing in unison "mee-tah!", sort of how one might say "trick or treat!" If K were here, no problem. But he's not, and I was left standing by the cracked-open door, in my bathrobe, thinking about the fact that the guard gossip network (much faster than our internet) means the whole neighborhood knows that K's gone, and also thinking 'why on earth are there two of them, just to read the meter?' There's really nothing approaching the concept of "identification" here for things like this, of course.
I decided to let them in through the separate kitchen door, with the main apartment door closed off, and my cellphone in hand, Consulate switchboard number primed. No problems, but it set me to thinking about how often the doorbell rings when we're both here, and what a pain it's going to be now.
The cats know that K's gone, too. He usually gives them treats throughout the day, this brand that we were originally given as a free sample by apusher pet shop owner in Portland, and subsequently became dutiful paid consumers of, and have now found cheaper on-line. (If you have cats, buy some -- but beware, the stuff is kitty crack.)
Anyway, I don't have a clue what K's usual treat-giving schedule is, but the cats do. At certain intervals, they'll exchange significant glances with each other, and then both advance on me:
"Excuse me, but my business associate and I, we have a little matter of mutual concern we would like to discuss with you. I believe we had an understanding? My associate is now going to the refrigerator. Does this jog your memory at all? Is this your newspaper which you are attempting to read? Oooh! How very clumsy of me! Please accept my deepest apologies. Is your memory any clearer now, if I may enquire? Is this your coffee cup...?"
The doorbell rang during breakfast this morning (Saturday, so the noon-ish part of morning). It was two grinning and somewhat grubbily-dressed men, announcing in unison "mee-tah!", sort of how one might say "trick or treat!" If K were here, no problem. But he's not, and I was left standing by the cracked-open door, in my bathrobe, thinking about the fact that the guard gossip network (much faster than our internet) means the whole neighborhood knows that K's gone, and also thinking 'why on earth are there two of them, just to read the meter?' There's really nothing approaching the concept of "identification" here for things like this, of course.
I decided to let them in through the separate kitchen door, with the main apartment door closed off, and my cellphone in hand, Consulate switchboard number primed. No problems, but it set me to thinking about how often the doorbell rings when we're both here, and what a pain it's going to be now.
The cats know that K's gone, too. He usually gives them treats throughout the day, this brand that we were originally given as a free sample by a
Anyway, I don't have a clue what K's usual treat-giving schedule is, but the cats do. At certain intervals, they'll exchange significant glances with each other, and then both advance on me:
"Excuse me, but my business associate and I, we have a little matter of mutual concern we would like to discuss with you. I believe we had an understanding? My associate is now going to the refrigerator. Does this jog your memory at all? Is this your newspaper which you are attempting to read? Oooh! How very clumsy of me! Please accept my deepest apologies. Is your memory any clearer now, if I may enquire? Is this your coffee cup...?"
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