At the risk of sounding like one of those nausea-inducing "This is why we're such a great couple" tracts, one of the reasons we're still plugging along eleven years later is that we tend to take turns freaking out over stuff. For the past couple of weeks, it's been Lorenzo who's been complaining about the (imaginary) lack of space in our soon-to-be refrigerator, or the lack of sunlight in our soon-to-be living room, and generally moping about as he makes the mental shift from 8 years of loft-living into the brand new world of house-living. During this, Tom put on his Mary Sunshine hat and sang that old tune about new horizons and change-is-good and "Remember, this is what we said we wanted and you'll love it when it's all over."
Now, 4 days out from THE DAY, Tom is whimpering and rocking back and forth and "How is that princess chair going to fit through the front door?" and "Ohmigod, what if the movers break that antique mirror we got from my parents?" and "WE DON'T HAVE ENOUGH BOXES! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!" Lorenzo rolls his eyes, pats Tom on the head, runs out to rent the final two discs of Rome, Season 1 and a gallon of fudge ripple, plants Tom on the couch and murmurs comforting words while we both wait for the full frontal male nudity scenes to come up.
And our apartment is a MESS. We gave up on housework weeks ago. Thank God for Clorox wipes or there'd be creeping fungus growing in our kitchen by now. We're drinking wine out of coffee cups, for God's sake. Have you ever heard of anything so sad and barbaric?
We can take comfort in one thing, though:
At least SOMEONE in this place is enjoying the current state of affairs.
Sometimes
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