Our building was built in 1987, so it’s just new enough that it lacks any of the old-timey charm our previous homes have had and it’s just old enough that everything in it is slightly tacky. It’s not that it isn’t nice enough. It’s nice enough. I thought it was really shabby when we first moved in, but now that I’ve scrubbed the whole place down – I’m not kidding, I had to use steel wool in the showers and a pumice stone on the toilet – I see that it’s not shabby, it just looks like an eighties-era Motel 6.
I think that’s what we’ll call this place. The Motel. It’s significant because this home is only temporary. Sure, we’ll be here for a few years, three, four, five maybe, but as soon as we can buy a house we’ll be outey like gouty. What?
We got this place for two hundred bucks below our budget, and it has nearly everything we wanted except hardwood/laminate flooring. It’s carpeted, but I think it might be the original carpeting from 1987, so when Theo rubs his ass on it I don’t feel as bad. Of course I want to get the dog butt-smear out of the carpeting, but I don’t feel guilty about it.
When we were apartment hunting we looked at this really nice condo just a few blocks from where we live now. It was only a one-bedroom and it was more expensive than the Motel, but it had a brand new washer and dryer in unit. It only had two windows, but it had a washer and dryer, a dishwasher, and a walk-in closet. We were so excited to see it. We walked in and the owner greeted us at the door, smiled warmly, held out his hand, and asked us to take off our shoes.
This is my biggest pet peeve. I understand why people want you to take your shoes off in their house, I get the logic behind it completely. But when I have had no advance warning and my toenails are all scabby looking and my feet stink because I’ve been wearing heels all day, and I walk into a stranger’s home and they ask me to take my shoes off, it is all I can do not to turn and run in the opposite direction. Also? Mike and I and our five animals have no business renting a condo from people who want us to take our perfectly clean shoes off before we walk into the condo we are trying to rent.
If I lived in that condo I would spend the next five years having a panic attack whenever Theo wiped his ass on the floor. In the Motel I don’t have to sweat it because the landlady didn’t even charge us a pet deposit. She actually used the words, “I do not care about the carpeting,” when we mentioned our animals. Not that we’re not going to take care of the carpet, because dear me, we are, we absolutely are. I cannot live with dog ass in my carpeting. I will scrub every unsightly stain, I just won’t feel guilty over it.
Does that make sense?