Last night Husband and I went a viewed an apartment. My apartment. THE apartment.
If I didn't know better I would swear the landlady designed that apartment with me in mind.
It is perfect. Beautiful. It's like walking into an Ikea show room. All wood floors, sleek and funky.
And there is a garden! With a shed that could so easily be made into a Chalet at the bottom of the garden. It's double glazed and has power. It'll be my writing study.
I've never wanted an apartment so badly. I'm desperate for the place.
The agent told me the landlady is VERY picky about who takes it and has already turned down one offer.
I think we'll get it because we are the perfect tennants, but I'm still sick with nerves that she'll say no, and if she says no I know no other apartment will compare.
The agent shall me calling me today to arrange an interview with the landlady. I'll be wearing my best dress...Which is hard actually because most of my clothes are either punk/indi or short skirt/slutty.... Were is my "black dress"?
I must have one somewhere.
I'm hoping my husband's world renowned charm will get us this place and also my son's cute smiley face.
He will be dressed in his best garb too. I want her to think we're a well to do, quiet, clean and happy family.
The happy and clean part is true.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment