une rendez-vous… une menage a trois….

or menage a ten or twenty or however many people show up.

After waiting all day for a return phone call from the rental agency (after a month you would think I had learned that never happens) David called again and was told that there will be one showing, tomorrow, at 12:30 and that’s it. Gee thanks for sending us an email or a text or calling to let us know.

Now I feel free to obsessively look at the pictures and imagine coming home to such a cute petite maison in the middle of Paris. I know it will be smaller and uglier than I am imagining in my head, but I can’t help but imagine our stuff in it’s little rooms. It has the charm I’m looking for and the price and fake laminate flooring David is looking for. It looks like a place where you would actually know your neighbors. And I’ve never seen a yard in Paris, much less one filled with over grown trees blocking the neighbors from peering into your windows. I’m in love. I can’t wait to see it, sign on the dotted line and collect the keys. I can’t help it, I fall in love with every apartment. It’s like puppy shopping at the SPCA. No matter which one I get, I will squeeze it and hug it and love it and hold it and maybe even finally get a god damn job so I can afford it.

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