Baldy Leaves the Nest
Let us reflect for a moment on what that means:
No more surly bald men storming around my house when Star Trek is moved to a different time on the Sci-Fi Network.
No more stale cigarette smoke smell coming from my coat closet.
No more strange phone calls from women eager to become his mail order bride who are outraged that I answer the phone, call me whatever bitch is in Russian and hang up.
No more weird food (everything with bacon on it, like he was some sort of hermaphidite pregant person) in my fridge.
No more giant bottle of Jack Daniels (that he did not share) hogging most of the freezer.
No more bizarre bald shape sitting on my couch most of the evening.
No more crabby bald man hogging the internet line the rest of the time.
Man, this list could go on for hours.
Of course he will be back. I keep finding stashes of his shit everywhere. A box of random cords here, his shaving kit there . . .alas, he took the dutch oven I really wanted.
He even left the big TV because there wasn't room for it in the new apartment. He is supposedly coming for it when they move in a couple of months. Think I can learn to say "me no English" in a Spanish accent convincingly by October?
So we are painting my room tomorrow and moving all my shit in there. Very exciting stuff here. We realized that if I buy the daybed I want for in there (for guests to sleep on since we only have a futon currently) that my room will look like the bedroom of a teenage girl. Of course J pointed out that his game room makes it look like we have a ten year old boy. Very confusing for anyone who comes over I am sure. Looks like we had our first baby when I was eight years old.
Which might not be weird in J's family but it is in mine.
We always wait until at least high school.
