My new apartment comes with its very own 4-year-old girl. I wish I'd known that before I signed the lease.
As we were unpacking our boxes yesterday, Fitz made herself a new friend. The kind who never leaves. The kind who wants to play with our swords. She and her mom finally left, for the second time, and Devon laughed when I put the chain on. Can't be too safe. A 4-year-old is notoriously hard to shake off when you wave a tiny dog in her face.
We celebrated the move out of squalor with the traditional move-in feast: frozen pizza and beer. After a lunch of frozen burritos and Vitamin Water. After a breakfast of Dunkin' Donuts sandwiches and coffee.
I am well-preserved.