It can’t be helped. Someone has to tell this story, and it might as well be me. A few weeks ago, Natasha and I were in Florida visiting our parents. Natasha was expecting a most peculiar delivery and had asked her friend to check in on things. He was told what would be in the package, but somehow no amount of preparation could prepare for this arrival.
From what I’ve gathered, he opened the package, reached inside, and immediately his hands touched something moist. Also known as damp and creepy. That was it, he closed it up and backed right out of Natasha’s apartment. The worms would have to wait. Yes, the worms.
The people of Maine, they are progressive and good and are doing things right. They recycle, they love the outdoors, and they host all sorts of awesome creatures like puffins and moose. Naturally this encouraged Natasha to get in step and start composting her vegetable scraps. But – she lives in an apartment and has no yard. So she ordered some worms TO KEEP IN HER HOUSE and throw scraps to. I think they might be internet worms, she bought them and they arrived in their custom caravan, and are now eating her garbage. Awesome.
And also:
I went roller skating the other night for the first time since Reginald gleefully took us in college. I went expecting a bunch of nostalgia coasting thirty-somethings dorking out and laughing to an 80’s soundtrack. What’s all this? Skating is not what it used to be. Now it’s all loud rap music and aggressively fast skaters and tricks. It was too much for me. It was scary and I was afraid I would fall down. And this is the defining moment when you realize you are getting old. I wasn’t afraid of falling down because of the embarrassment. No, my fear was that I’d hurt myself. When those priorities switch places, you know that time is running out for daredevil stunts. So this weekend, it’s parasailing while I still have a chance.
But wait, there's more!
I’m moving to a new apartment at the end of the month. The place I’ve rented for over 5 years has been sold, so I have no choice. I’ve been pretty depressed about it. Until, two nights ago. I’m woken in the middle of the night to the smoke detector screaming – seriously, that is one of the most terrifying things I’ve experienced. There was no fire, just a faulty smoke detector that has always been a sensitive, whiny baby. But instead of fixing it right away, the landlords found the time instead to bring the new owners round without notice. I came home to a still faulty smoke detector and blinds that had inexplicably been adjusted to pervy peeping tom range. So now, even though I’m heading to yet another beige apartment, I can leave behind the building list of aggravations at this one. And the beauty of renting…it’s always someone else’s fault and problem when something goes wrong.
