I am sick of reading lists of rules in the elevator of my own home.
I am sick of reading lists of rules in the elevator of my own home.
I am sick of reading lists of rules in the elevator of my own home.
I am sick of reading lists of rules in the elevator of my own home.
It went on like that. And there was one in each elevator.
"Did you do this?" I asked Rob. He said no.
We eventually did get our furniture delivered, though it did not happen on a Saturday. So we are now getting accustomed to our new dining table, desk, bookshelf, and sliding sofa. What this means is that we have massively increased our living space; for the past 3 years, one of our rooms has just housed a large guest bed and a larger amount of cat hair. I liked to close the door and pretend it wasn't there at all, which is--I know--not the right way to treat an extra room.
The furniture thrills me, with its utility and its shininess. Tonight, I made dinner. When it was ready, I walked to the new dining table, removed the placemats and set them on the coffeetable.
"Uh...don't you want to eat at that table?" Rob asked, indicating the dining table. Where dining happens. Turns out it's not just a receptacle for the placemats.
We ate dinner with the TV on, even though we couldn't see it. We have to ease into this whole grown-up dinner thing.
Afterwards, Rob asked, "Want to watch Transformer 3?"
"I wouldn't do that if you paid me," I answered honestly.
He rolled his eyes and asked what I wanted to watch.
"I would watch Milk," I said slowly (I can't believe we haven't seen it yet.) "OR! You could watch Transformer 3 and I could read in...the other room."
A hushed silence fell as I considered the possibilities and Rob watched me.
I got up from my seat and hugged him. "Aren't you so excited?"
"To have a place to put you?" he asked. "Yes."
3 comments:
I love it! Do we get to see pictures of the other furniture?
Sarah, this is a direct order: Begin writing a book immediately. Or blog more often. I resent that you are only sharing this kind of funniness with me intermittently.
Agreed. You don't know the kind of blog trash that's out there. People who just want to talk about themselves and aren't funny or interesting in the slightest. And when you don't blog, I am forced to go look at THOSE blogs so I can at least make fun of them in my head. But really, I just end up getting angry.
I'll call you tonight so you can tell me I need therapy. :)
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