K moves out
All the way across town; at least 20 minutes away.
For, like, three whole weeks.
Give or take.
Call it practical, or call it codependent: there was a house-sitting opportunity on Capitol Hill, and he took it. Hey, it's a great big quiet townhouse in a great neighborhood, all -- very compellingly -- for free. We figure it'll allow him to tackle the writing project he's been complaining of too much psychic interference to do here, plus this arrangement will still allow me to get the occasional home-cooked meal. And let me do whatever it is that I should be doing, which is probably also writing, but is more likely to be GRE practice, at least for the next several weeks. Actually, it will also allow us to date, which we didn't do much of before moving in together -- and, for that reason alone, I'm looking forward to it.
K, a little less so today than yesterday. See, the couple he's sitting for are terribly nice, but terrifyingly well-organized; he came home from meeting with them last night, right before they left, with a typed, single-spaced seven-page set of house instructions.
E: "So how'd it go?"
K: "Oh, fine. We just went over all the instructions together."
E: "Let's see."
(reads)
"Ok...page 1, capsule personality profiles of all the immediate neighbors...page 3, alarm system...page 5, nearest police, ok...page 6, cat care. Hunh. Listen to this: 'Tinkerbell is aged, and gets diarrhea....We have trimmed his behind to help with this, but --' ...oops, Honey? I just saw the words 'anal plug'...?"
K: "What!?" (grabs instructions)
E: (grabs back, laughing. continues reading) "...feces occasionally form an anal plug. The only thing to do is try to remove the blockage. There are rubber gloves on..." (stops reading. hands to K.)
K: (reading frantically through) "What!? No! I just met with them for, like, an hour, and we went all through these, and no one ever said anything about..." (shuffles wildly through the pages) "Noooooo!"
But, alas, the couple are already on their way to the other side of the globe. And K is a cat-lovin' and principled kind of guy. So he's over there now, in that great big quiet townhouse: just him, and his notebooks, and an unfamiliar elderly Persian with digestive trouble, whom I'm told regards him with a fair amount of icy skepticism. And some rubber gloves.
I guess it just goes to show: ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
For, like, three whole weeks.
Give or take.
Call it practical, or call it codependent: there was a house-sitting opportunity on Capitol Hill, and he took it. Hey, it's a great big quiet townhouse in a great neighborhood, all -- very compellingly -- for free. We figure it'll allow him to tackle the writing project he's been complaining of too much psychic interference to do here, plus this arrangement will still allow me to get the occasional home-cooked meal. And let me do whatever it is that I should be doing, which is probably also writing, but is more likely to be GRE practice, at least for the next several weeks. Actually, it will also allow us to date, which we didn't do much of before moving in together -- and, for that reason alone, I'm looking forward to it.
K, a little less so today than yesterday. See, the couple he's sitting for are terribly nice, but terrifyingly well-organized; he came home from meeting with them last night, right before they left, with a typed, single-spaced seven-page set of house instructions.
E: "So how'd it go?"
K: "Oh, fine. We just went over all the instructions together."
E: "Let's see."
(reads)
"Ok...page 1, capsule personality profiles of all the immediate neighbors...page 3, alarm system...page 5, nearest police, ok...page 6, cat care. Hunh. Listen to this: 'Tinkerbell is aged, and gets diarrhea....We have trimmed his behind to help with this, but --' ...oops, Honey? I just saw the words 'anal plug'...?"
K: "What!?" (grabs instructions)
E: (grabs back, laughing. continues reading) "...feces occasionally form an anal plug. The only thing to do is try to remove the blockage. There are rubber gloves on..." (stops reading. hands to K.)
K: (reading frantically through) "What!? No! I just met with them for, like, an hour, and we went all through these, and no one ever said anything about..." (shuffles wildly through the pages) "Noooooo!"
But, alas, the couple are already on their way to the other side of the globe. And K is a cat-lovin' and principled kind of guy. So he's over there now, in that great big quiet townhouse: just him, and his notebooks, and an unfamiliar elderly Persian with digestive trouble, whom I'm told regards him with a fair amount of icy skepticism. And some rubber gloves.
I guess it just goes to show: ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
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