I never thought I would miss carpet. Itchy-ugly-just-begging-for-me-to-spill-a-glass-of red-wine-carpet. What-the-HELL-is-that- another-pile-of-cat-barf-SCRUB SCRUB SCRUB-carpet.
Right. So I’ve always wanted hardwood floors. The quality stuff, the kind from another era that have some nice wear, a few imperfections, but overall are in good solid condition.
And I now have what I’ve wanted—an entire apartment of hardwood floors.
And cold feet. Not like pre-wedding jitters cold feet, but actual, literal cold feet. And if you have cats you know what an irritant the grit of cat litter on bare feet can be. So yeah, I miss carpet just a wee bitty bit, but it’s nothing a few area rugs or some socks won’t fix.
But I guess what I’m taking four paragraphs to say is that the grass isn’t always greener—there are always compromises.
Another compromise is that my kitchen doesn’t have a dishwasher. Not so awful with just one person—I’m not dirtying mounds of dishes nor do I even have mounds of them to dirty, but last night I stood at the sink and scrubbed my only good pot, a lonely plate and one little fork, and it made me really want that dishwasher so I could just throw everything inside, close the door and not have to stand at the sink and miss cooking for two.
(And don’t give me that look, because I’m not all “wahhhh my life’s not complete without a guy. ” Simply dealing with glitches as my system reboots.)
Last night as I dutifully chopped a yellow bell pepper, I thought I heard a knock at my front door. I paused mid-chop and crept, literally tip-toed, toward the door. Not only that but I took the knife with me. I silently cursed the squeaky (but beautiful!) hardwood, and hesitated in the entranceway, not sure if someone was there or not. Then a soft wrap came again and when I unlocked and opened my door, there was my young neighbor’s cute face and a bundle of muffins tied in a bow with a sheer green ribbon.
“They’re banana walnut. Just wanted to welcome you to the building,” she said with a sweet smile.
And then I felt extra stupid still clutching my big knife so I graciously accepted her gift and invited her in and gave her a tour. I found out some good info about my other neighbors. Peeps upstairs have dogs and own their place. The lady across from me has lived there something crazy like 15 years and likes to plant herbs in the back yard and will offer pots to me if I want to help. It’s first come first serve on the washer/dryer and people generally do follow the 9 p.m. rule (she and her husband were also irritated about whoever broke the rule this week.)So yeah, muffins! I didn’t think people did that sort of thing in real life. It seems like the whole “can I borrow a cup of sugar” fluff scenario, but it did make me feel incredibly welcome. I’m glad I don’t have to share those.