Peanut butter at one house, bread at the other, plates packed in a box… this is all very disturbing. I was at the new place today packing and shivering with cold, and it took a good twenty minutes for me to think of unpacking a sweatshirt from a box and putting it on. It felt faintly illicit, as if the new house should not be used for such profane purposes as dressing.
I also had a horrid experience last night while unpacking a box of kitchen iems. There was an enormous cockroach chilling in my brand-new mini-ramekins. It was probably from the house. That’s probably the reason the previous tenants moved out, you know. Every night, millions of tiny feet marching, marching, until the sounds of the roaches softly moving hammered themselves into their brains and caused them to gibber. Super.
Also, it is prayer meeting here tonight. I am trying to psych myself up not to apologise to people for providing only one type of homebaked cookie. Normally I would do lemon muffins as well or die in the attempt, but we’re out of sugar and flour and most of my baking stuff is elsewhither. And we have no microwave, so if anyone needs butter melted or a wheatie bag heated up or a hamster inhumanely killed they’ll just have to lump it. The situation, not the hamster. Or both; whatever.
Is there an internationally-recognised protocol on the correct place to keep the fly spray? And would you rather move into a house with roaches, or one in which the previous owner had offed herself in the laundry?
Miriam Says:
