I hate cats. Following a recent stint of fostering kittens, I have been reminded yet again that they're nasty, dirty, spiny, loud creatures who think nothing of hooking their talons into your cuticle beds to haul themselves onto the couch. This morning I emailed the lady in charge of foster care at the animal shelter to let her know that I needed to drop off nasty biscuits #8 and #9 of the summer as I am going to be out of town the rest of the week. Immediately I receive an out of office email. I grumpily cover back up with my blue blanket and try to figure out who I can convince to come over and tend to kittens for the rest of the week.
I fall asleep because I have been up since 3AM watching BBC comedy clips on YouTube. I awaken at 1:38PM to an email from aforementioned foster care coordinator saying that she is indeed out of the office but that if I can get the girls to the shelter by 3PM, someone would be there to dispose of them.
I spring off the couch, stuff the kittens into their carrier, slide on my prized $2.98 yellow flip-flops from Walmart purchased especially for my camping trip back in May and hustle off to the car. I do not bother to brush my hair or apply a bra, as the staff at the animal shelter are all lovely people and completely accepting of me as is.
Kittens deposited and free of parental duties, I sail off to the movie theater because I have the afternoon off and I really want to see that movie "Three Identical Strangers" about those triplets who were separated at birth. I treat myself to a giant bag of Sour Patch Kids and sit, as I am wont to do, hermitishly in the back row alone with my backpack occupying the seat beside me and my arm slung over the back of the chair on my other side to make it seem as though I am reserving it for someone. I eat my kids, glare menacingly at other patrons who enter and make even a whisper of a move toward my row.
The movie is quite good. I was best friends with a set of twins in middle school and have always found the concept fascinating. Both of them had a knack for wearing ladies plain white Keds extremely well. I always tried to match their skill level, but never quite pulled it off.
I drive home, find a lovely parking spot, and in strolling down the sidewalk by my building, glance into the window of the downstairs apartment. The previous tenant moved out a couple of months ago. I know that because one day the garish twiggy wreath complete with green burlap ribbons and giant carved wooden "M" bedecking the front door was gone. So she'd either moved out or finally realized how rude it is to hog the whole front door of a building of which you are not the only occupant with a tacky wreath featuring your- and only your- first initial.
I've been peeping in the window for the past month to see if anyone had moved in. Last week, I noticed some bamboo plants and....some guitars. So I got pretty excited. After all, I have a bamboo plant. And a brother who plays the guitar. But I'd yet to see the new tenant.
Today though, as I walk in the main, and blessedly wreathless, door to the building, the door to the apartment in question creaks open. I smile. This has happened twice before. With the past two tenants. This is where I get to play benevolent, street-smart, lady of the city and inform the new tenant that they must slam their door completely else the vacuum effect created by the main door of the building opening into the foyer will cause their front door to pop open as well.
I knock.
Immediately the door is swung wide. Inside, smiling at me, is a very, very cute and tanned man person struggling to put his t-shirt on.
"Hi! I'm Matt!" He says.
Great, I think. Who that I know ISN'T named Matt. I'll have to carefully consider whether or not there's room for him on the roster.
"I'm Audra," I say. "I'm glad to meet you finally."
I then use a phrase I've always wanted to use but never had occasion- I say: "Pro tip- you have to make sure your door is shut very tight or else it'll pop open when the front door gets opened."
"Vacuum effect?" He says.
"Yes." I say.
He continues smiling at me. Then- "You'll have to forgive me, I've just realized I've got my shirt on backward."
"No problem, I say." (I instantly remember that I am clad in my favorite 6-year-old paint stained summer camp t-shirt, that I am wearing no bra, my Monster energy drink cap, and my Walmart flip-flops-which by the way have broken hours earlier in the movie theater and are hanging on by a thong and a thread. I am proud to be wearing my Idaho sweatpants, however. If you don't appreciate those, then who cares what you think.) I gather my thoughts.
"I've been wondering who moved in down here," I continue. "I noticed you have lots of plants AND guitars." He pauses in the act of twisting his t-shirt around and my eyes widen. There's no way I could see his guitars from this vantage point, so now he surely realizes I've been peering in his windows. Whatever, I'm not creepy.
He seems to deem me safe and continues smiling. "Would you like to come in and see the unit?"
I snicker. And enter the apartment. I've long been nosy.
There's a large red couch. I like that. An oriental carpet. Not as cool as my $10 glittery rag rug from Ross Dress for Less. A table littered with bags and stuff and a figurine I can't identify. Books. Oh good.
"You have books." I say. "That's good." At this point I've mostly forgotten about the guy and am just satisfying my curiosity. He gestures for me to enter the kitchen, having finally unwound his arms from the innards of his t-shirt.
And here is where I think I started to make him nervous.
"Is that a washer or dryer?" I grind out. He turns to me, smiling (surprise, surprise), and says, "It's actually a combination of both!"
INFURIATING. My apartment does not have this. I want my apartment to have this. I've always thought since the Pilgrims built this building that it wasn't able to support such things, but now!
"Oh, I'm gonna write I strongly worded email to management!" I announce. I spin on my heel to stride smartly out of the kitchen and.....my thong snaps. (The one on my shoe.) I turn back to face Matt XIV and bend down. I pick up the now worthless wedge of yellow foam. I say, "My shoe broke. Earlier." He.......smiles.
I head back for the door, clutching my shoe. I am thinking I am sure this has made quite an impression. The quality of which I may not want to know. But before I can exit gracefully, I am stopped in my tracks by the appearance of another apartment item which leaves me speechless. I turn to Matt XIV.
"Did you paint your radiator? IS THAT A BLACK RADIATOR? That is VERY COOL." I'm probably panting and foaming at the mouth. His smile has begun to waver. "No- I didn't paint it. It.....was like that...when I got here."
"I see," I say. "Well, that's TWO things I'm going to mention in my strongly worded letter!"
He opens the door for me. I am reminded suddenly that I'm sure my breath smells like Sour Patch Kids and that my hair could snare a yak. AND THAT I'M NOT WEARING A BRA. I bound across the hall to my door and disappear through it.
I think I might tape a note to his door tomorrow. It will not be strongly worded. But he will probably have moved out.
