Moving day

Dear Grant (“the man that I live with”),
You have stored up major treasures in heaven.

We did not know each other – you were the friend-of-a-friend – and yet you graciously opened your doors to me. You helped me carry my huge purple suitcases, and big boxes of dishes and books, and all of my linens, into your spare bedroom. You gave me a corner of the shower to put all of my pink bottles of smell-goody shampoo. You cleared out the bottom shelf of the fridge for my eggs and bread and yogurt. You didn’t complain when I left my frying pan on the stove, morning after morning, because I don’t wash it every day between frying eggs… you didn’t even tell me I’m a gross human being for not doing so. You didn’t lose your mind when I put MY bedspread on your guest bed, just to make it feel more like home. You lent me your car to go pick up big pieces of furniture that I bought on Craigslist. You edited my resume. You told me what I should do if a tornado hits.

You didn’t kick me out. For over a month, and mostly with no end in sight, you let me stay.

I don’t know what I would have done without you. I am forever indebted. I’ll miss sitting in the living room at night, you always on the couch, me always on the love-seat (why did that always just happen?), talking about our days. I never cured you of your TV addiction, and you never cured me of my internet obsession, but hey – we tried.

Oh, and I’ve been meaning to bring something up. You use Mentadent toothpaste? The double-barreled wonder? I kind of forgot that existed.

Well, cool.

Gratefully,
Annie