after Ben and I moved into our house, we slowly found things for our landlord to fix. or we (I) slowly began breaking things that required our landlord’s attention.
I can’t remember the specific order of events that follow, but you should know that every time we have had a “problem” at the house, Ben is the one that is home in the mornings to meet our landlord when he comes over to “fix” something.
scenario one: we could not get our patio door to latch shut and stay locked. this resulted in a phone call to our landlord where I told him I did not feel safe, so obviously he came over right away to fix it. obviously he shows up and gets it to latch/lock on the first try. embarrassing? kinda.
scenario two: we initially stored all of our pans and pizza stones in the drawer that slides out under the oven. well, after a few times of seeing rings of fire on our metal pizza pan, I decided that our oven was definitely going to explore and I called our landlord to tell him. so, he came over one day and realized what was going on: the drawer under our oven? definitely a broiler. embarrassing? very.
scenario three: the other day, after a rough day at work, I came home and ripped the handle right off of our new dishwasher. I know what you’re thinking, it was only a matter of time because I have such huge muscles. but after googling and youtubing I could not figure out how to attach it back, and when Ben got home he was not pleased with me. so, I texted our landlord this time, because I’m done having phone calls with him, and he exchanged a few messages with me about screws and something with the name Allen in it and what not. you get the idea. so, poor landlord comes over yesterday and picks the handle up to find the “missing” screws inside the handle and promptly attached it back to the dishwasher with an allen wrench. embarrassing? really only for Ben because he has now been the victim of my stupidity multiple times in front of our landlord, and I am fairly certain our landlord thinks we are the most incompetent couple to ever rent from him… but c’est la woe-is-us.
so, you might be thinking it’s time to get to the sweet part of my life, but I am only getting started dear readers.
more cray coming your way.
Ben’s job requires that he travels a lot, and is usually gone for the duration of the weekend, or only one night, or on my favorite weekends not at all. but I blame my undergrad self for saying I would make a really good coach’s wife someday because of having alone time. distance makes the heart grow fonder. whatever, karma is a b.
anyway, as a result of Ben racking up road miles, Lucy and I spend a lot of time together. I must be boring her, because she has been trying to give me minor heart attacks purely out of entertainment purposes, I am sure.
scenario one: it’s a Friday night, and instead of eating a bowl of cereal and going to bed, I decided I would drive a couple blocks to the grocery store to pick up a salad and some more milk for the previously mentioned cereal. I give Lucy a treat and put in her kennel (that sits upstairs in our bedroom), and as I’m leaving the house I decide not to look the front door because I’ll only be gone for 15 minutes, and I decided it was safer to do that than to have to fumble with my keys and grocery bags in the dark once I get home. the logic, you guys. anyway, I get home from the grocery store and throw open the front door to find Lucy propped up on a pillow staring back at me. I immediately freak out that some murderer has broken into our house and let Lucy out of her kennel as a distraction to get me. so, I pick up this huge candy cane rawhide bone we had gotten Lucy for Christmas, and I start walking through the house to make sure there are no murderers. I was doing okay, until I opened up the basement door and the lights were on. turns out my super energy-conscious boyfriend had left them on all day, so there were no murderers hanging out on the washing machine. somehow, I managed to compose myself and survived that week.
scenario two: one Saturday I was taking a shower before going to run errands, and I left the bathroom door open because I don’t like Lucy to feel like she’s been left alone (sometimes my niceness overwhelms me, too). because that may result in her peeing on the carpet, dumpster diving, or getting into mischief I don’t even know about at this point. anyway, as I’m lathering my shampoo, I see something moving between the shower curtain and the liner. and all of the sudden it’s touching my leg and I let out a screech and Lucy scurries out of the bathroom.
now, because you’ve all been waiting for it…
yesterday, even though I would categorize myself into the “shitty girlfriend” category this week, Ben told me he would make me chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese, because I had a headache and have just not been feeling prime this week.
so there it is. the sweet. the yin to my yang. the macaroni to my cheese. the victim to my stupidity, absurdity, and dramatics, making me grilled cheese after I’ve been the least fun person to live with this week.
it’s a crazy, sweet life. some days it’s more more crazy than sweet, but every day has both.