What would you do 7 weeks into opening your own restaurant?
Book a facial? A massage? Hire a reservationist? Stop taking reservations all together???
Don’t worry, we did none of those things. Instead, we decided to move.
That’s right. Move.
Move when you’ve had so little time to pack, the removalists turn up and have to take out the recycling once they’ve finished packing your husband’s absurd collection of cookbooks.
We’re pretty posh though. Our new apartment has not one, but two bedrooms, and even has a naturally lit laundry. (That’s a positive way of saying the landlord converted the landing outside into a laundry by wacking up two bits of plywood and jerryy-rigging some plumbing).
The upsides to this move are;
- we’re now an easy walk to the restaurant
- our daughter has her own room
Those are really the main points, now that I think of it.
The downsides are;
- we’re now an easy walk to the restaurant…will Q ever see her father again?
- the hot water tank is only enough for one shower every 12 hours. I shall never tell which one of us misses out…
- i was forced to make my first ever purchase of white goods, and am now the reluctant owner of a washing machine and dryer.
Yes, yes, I have washed our clothes since we moved back to Australia, but it was with the use of an inherited washer that stayed at the apartment we vacated.
In New York, everyone gets their laundry done, since the poor slave labour wash and fold it better than you ever could and it only costs a couple of bucks more, and in LA, the landlords supply them, so this purchasing of white-goods really makes me feel like I’ve slammed into the wall of domesticity.
Does anything signify permanence and a halt on spontaneity quite like the purchase of a washing machine?
Other than the purchase of a restaurant perhaps?
Ah well, I guess we all have to grow up sometime…
Happy Monday…oh wait, it’s Wednesday. Well, happy hump day for your guys, Monday for us.
Have a great week, I’ve got to put the napkins in the dryer.
Don’t be jealous…