Nine-Year Itch

As you may or may not know, I've been living in the same apartment for the past nine years. For the most part, it's been okay. But certain recent events have led me to question my living situation. You know, the bad kids setting booby traps on my staircase...that whole nation's-largest-meth-lab fiasco...and, yeah, those three bombs. Well, two bombs, I guess. One was only a threat. I suppose a person must have a serious aversion to moving to stay in a place like that. Yep. I was totally preparing to sign another year lease. I admit it. My name is Brooke, and I am addicted to stagnation.

Long story short, Lindsay put her foot down and forced me to leave my alarmingly uncomfortable comfort zone.

So I found a really great, sunny little place in an upscale city much closer to work. My 80/mile a day commute is now 14. There are these things all over my apartment called windows. Hank and Ollie are somewhat frightened of them...but we're adjusting to this daylight phenomenon. Slowly but surely.

The apartment isn't perfect. It was built in 1946, so it definitely has its drawbacks...such as paper thin walls, stubborn window frames, troublesome pipes, ancient phone lines (that have frayed and broken apart), and wild settling noises. This place settles quite a lot, and each time it does, it sounds like a freakin' gunshot. It's enough to wake you out of a dead sleep. But, hey, that's better than a bomb detonation any day, especially considering the fact that it only sounds like a gunshot.

The biggest issue I have here is my assigned parking space. It's dinky. And there's a wooden beam on one side. And there's a Jeep Grand Cherokee on the other side. And Big Red is not a compact car. If it were, I would have named it Compact Red. It's not like me to be imprecise.

The first time I pulled in next to that Jeep, I tried my best to stay as far to the left as I could. Even so, there was barely an inch between us. The poor guy must have climbed in his passenger side to get in, whoever he is.

So, about those troublesome pipes. They clog up. Badly. I had to have a plumber come out after one week of residence (only because I didn't have time to handle it on my first day of residence). Naturally, he brought along a trainee, and they parked their van in the No Parking zone behind my space. So, of course, I decided to try to slip past them into my spot. And I scraped the rear driver's door of the Jeep. Dammit!

You know Big Red. Right as rain. But the Jeep was not so hardy. After I endured the plumber and his student laughing their asses off and pointing at me, we went upstairs where they got to work scratching the hell out of my bathtub, and I wrote an apology note with my insurance information attached. And since I don't know who this person even is, I had to address it, "Dear Jeep Owner."

Though I filed a claim right away, I still felt terrible about my actions. I never should have attempted to fit into that postage stamp-sized space when it was partially blocked. That was a boneheaded move. I wanted to do something more. So, I went out to get a Starbucks card and a apology greeting card. Katie, my favorite colleague and close friend, came with me.

Obviously, I felt bad and had a serious reason for card-shopping. I wanted to send just the right message. But hilarity ensued when Katie and I finally found the apology section. We would pick out a card to read aloud, adding "Dear Jeep Owner" to the beginning. Turns out, CVS has a woefully small apology card selection and, what it does have, seems rather intimate for such an occasion. I felt like a cheating husband just reading these detailed remorseful lines. Of course, I don't remember any of them verbatim, but most of them went something like this:

Dear Jeep Owner,

No words can possibly express my sorrow. I never meant to hurt you. It's the last thing I'd ever want to do. You are such an important part of my life. I don't know what I'd do without you. I messed up. And I have to live with that. Day and night, I think about what I've done, and I am so sorry. I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive me. I care about you more than I can say. Without you, my life will never be complete. Etc., etc., etc.

We started to think that, just maybe, these cards didn't send quite the message I was shooting for. I chose something blank from my mom's stationary set.

And finally, after days of waiting and worrying, Jeep Owner called me. And he was so nice. I had been hoping for a chance to apologize for victimizing his Jeep, but, every time I said how sorry I felt, he defended me by stating that the spaces are way too small, the wooden beams are intimidating, the No Parking zone is always occupied. Apparently, the person who parked in my spot before me also had a larger vehicle, and Jeep Owner had to climb in his passenger side door every single day. So, actually, a minor car accident is an improvement. Who knew?

So, all in all, I'm very pleased with my (Lindsay's) decision to move. It was the right thing to do. My new place is lovely, it's perfectly located, and all of my neighbors are delightful...and childless.

I'm glad I scratched that nine-year itch. Now, if I ever find myself in a romantic relationship and am tempted to scratch the fabled seven-year itch, I know where to find the perfect apology card.

B

Pet Peeve of the Day:
I brought my cats to a sunny place full of windows and even a screened back door, and they spend 95% of their time lying in the small, dark space between my bed and the wall. Or, even better, under my bed. I get that they're unfamiliar with this whole natural light deal, but come on!