Precocious Daughter and I have bought our first piece of furniture and moved it into our apartment.
Not sure if I've mentioned this here, but with the exception of our bedroom furniture, personal effects, and things handed down to me by my parents and grandparents, PDaughter and I are taking nothing with us to our new home. My almost-ex gets all the other furniture, all the pots and pans, the washer and dryer, the lamps, the bookshelves, everything.
There are two reasons for this. One is that he is much less able than I to replace these items, and I don't want to be cast as the party who left him bereft of possessions after the divorce.
The other is that most of our stuff is old and shabby, and I don't freaking want it.
Admittedly, this puts PDaughter and me in a tough position.
|Somewhere around here.|
|Not going to lie, we are not Survivorman.|
Here's the thing: Our apartment is small. It's almost exactly half the size of the house we're leaving. And its living space is pretty damn tiny compared to the space we've enjoyed for the last 10 years.
|NOT my house. Just, you know, a theoretical comparison.|
So last night, we purchased...Le Storage Ottoman!
|Behold our new living room!|
But it was so psychologically important to buy something for the apartment. Something nice and new that has never lived in my soon-to-be-ex-house with my soon-to-be-ex-spouse. Something that PDaughter and I picked out together and put in the back of the car together and carried inside together.
|She can actually climb inside it and close the lid. |
Which we totally did, of course.
So there you have it. We have no place to sleep, no place to eat, and a single roll of toilet paper in one of the bathrooms. But we can store all of our spare blankets in style.
If I can survive the next few weeks, I can't wait to put my feet up on my ottoman.