Sure, the one thing he doesn’t have…

I mean, I know there hasn’t been anybody menstruating in that house since well, my mom left in 1983, but honestly, I didn’t think that meant anything. But I guess it’s okay to keep expense reports from 1968 but can we hold on to one box of Tampax? Nooo. I guess not.

So I finished the kitchen this morning, which I am now calling my kitchen because I may just decide to stay in there it’s so pretty. Like seriously. They’ll have to rent it with a redhead sitting on the floor in the corner. It’s all eggshell and clean and I cannot wait until the doors are back on the cabinets and it will be so pretty!!!

And now I’ve realized a teensy weensy little baby problem with this whole fixing-it-to-rent-thing.

Um, I don’t want to do the rent part.

In my head I’m fixing it for me. And then I realize that some other losers are going to be eating breakfast and *gasp* showing in my shower for like five years while I write about how maybe a well-timed nuke could have saved the world a hell of a lot of trouble by just wiping Northern Ireland off the map.

(No, for reals. The nationalists hated the unionists. The unionists hated the nationalists. The nationalists wanted to be Irish. The Irish didn’t want anything to do with the nationalists. The unionists wanted to be British. The British wanted nothing to do with the unionists. And then Tommy Makem wrote a song and confused the whole damn matter and wow, Ireland really didn’t want Northern Ireland back. OH MY GOD JUST BE NORTHERN IRISH ALREADY HOW DID IT TAKE YOU UNTIL 1999 TO FIGURE THIS OUT. GAH.)

(Yes. Yes, I did just pick the single most frustrating twenty-five years in western history for my focus. I enjoy pain.)

Anyway, there will be other people in my kitchen. And my bathroom. And my pretty white bedroom. DO NOT WANT.

This is like buying a fixer-upper and then letting somebody else sleep in your pretty new fixer-upped bedroom. I have never been very good at sharing. I’m not any better now.

But the kitchen! Pretty!!!

(I’m taking the linen closet, btw.)

(No way are Hypothetical Gay Couple kicking their gross little Hypothetical Gay Toes into my linen closet.)


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