Have been hero
My parents and I just got back from a day trip to Boston to find water trickling through the kitchen ceiling tiles. This was traced to the upstairs apartment, where knocking elicited no answer. I got the key, unlocked the door, and found that Chilly Neighbor had gone away for the weekend, previous to which she had interpreted her NO PETS EVER AT ALL rental clause as meaning "two kittens, I just won't tell anybody". They were very cute kittens, mind you, which was probably the only good thing about the situation. Their big self-filling water dish with the quart-sized tank was leaky or had been shaken so hard it had spilled all the way across the floor, soaking a doormat and about a bushel of cat litter and of course some floorboards. It was the grossest thing that has happened for some days.
I got paper towels and mopped the whole thing up and then refilled the water dish and just left it in the sink. Chilly Neighbor can like it or lump it but I'm not having her little bundles of cuteness cause another flood this evening. I petted and admired them and then left and locked up.
It's late. Crises are dealt with. Homework has been done. My parents are asleep, and I should be too. You know what's a chief fault of mine--I seldom or never go to bed at a reasonable hour. Should change that. It's just so nice sitting up late after my mind has settled down. Perhaps also it's an unacknowledged act of rebellion, proving to self that if someone tells me to go to bed, I don't have to go to bed. Anyway, stop it, Teeny.
The trip to New York was great. A review of The Seagull will follow, but, short answer: I didn't like the play itself much, I liked several performances a lot, hated a couple of others, and actually got some good laughs out of the whole affair, much to my surprise. And after the play I took a wild ride down Seventh Avenue in a bicycle rickshaw behind a charming maniac. When I am a rich and jaded middle-aged woman who talks out of the side of her mouth like a thirties film star, I am going to hire a horde of young guys to take turns drawing me around the city in a bikeshaw with a white carriage cover and a red plush banquette seat. Other women can have pool boys, I will have my rickshaw pedalers.
I got paper towels and mopped the whole thing up and then refilled the water dish and just left it in the sink. Chilly Neighbor can like it or lump it but I'm not having her little bundles of cuteness cause another flood this evening. I petted and admired them and then left and locked up.
It's late. Crises are dealt with. Homework has been done. My parents are asleep, and I should be too. You know what's a chief fault of mine--I seldom or never go to bed at a reasonable hour. Should change that. It's just so nice sitting up late after my mind has settled down. Perhaps also it's an unacknowledged act of rebellion, proving to self that if someone tells me to go to bed, I don't have to go to bed. Anyway, stop it, Teeny.
The trip to New York was great. A review of The Seagull will follow, but, short answer: I didn't like the play itself much, I liked several performances a lot, hated a couple of others, and actually got some good laughs out of the whole affair, much to my surprise. And after the play I took a wild ride down Seventh Avenue in a bicycle rickshaw behind a charming maniac. When I am a rich and jaded middle-aged woman who talks out of the side of her mouth like a thirties film star, I am going to hire a horde of young guys to take turns drawing me around the city in a bikeshaw with a white carriage cover and a red plush banquette seat. Other women can have pool boys, I will have my rickshaw pedalers.