|It was a completely electronic, online transaction, but |
let me imagine I signed on parchment with a fountain pen.
I signed a lease. On an apartment. An apartment into which Precocious Daughter and I will be moving come August.
Just us, and the Siamese kitten, and the guinea pig.
|They don't look like this, but isn't it amazing|
what Google can find?
The last time I rented was 1996. My spouse and I lived in a condominium in a small, upscale complex in which everybody either owned their unit or rented it from the owner.
Before that, we lived in a tiny apartment over his mom's garage.
Before that, we lived in a downstairs flat in Milwaukee. It didn't matter that it was an ancient piece of crap, because it was our first place and the landlord didn't care what we did with it.
Before that? Well, the last time I actually lived in an apartment was 1973. I was five.
|Representative five-year-old, not me.|
I didn't smile that much when I was five.
Still, I'm about to be an apartment-dweller once again. I'm scared to fucking death, Drunkards.
This place is upscale, and hip, and new, and centrally located, and secure, and nigh perfect.
It's at (OK, over) the top of my price range. I decided the price tag was worth it because 1) it's secure, 2) it's too new to be falling apart, and 3) PDaughter loves it. I feel sort of too old, fat, and dorky to live there. But I also feel as if I deserve a place that is super-nice because I've been denying myself nice things for 25 fucking years.
|I DESERVE THIS, YO.|
I will not regurgitate the conversation between my spouse and me when I told him we'd found a new place to live. Suffice to say, it was bizarre. It involved pet custody and similarly weird topics of conversation. I think it turned out well. I don't know. The bottom line is...I've signed a lease so it doesn't matter one goddamn bit if he approves of my choice or not.
Still, I'm scared. Nervous. Apprehensive. Whatever you want to call it, that's me.
August, you guys. That's the reset button on my life. Wish me luck.
Soon I hope to make a similar announcement on my IRL Facebook page. But not yet. Let me get used to the fate of a fictional character before I admit to relatives and former classmates that my fucking mariage has failed.