“Any impute would be great.”
It would, wouldn’t it?
The condo management reminds us “owner’s” not to have any “boistarous” parties. Also, they approved that I live with a cat. The cat has lived in the building for almost three months now, as an illegal immigrant. To get approved, we initially had to submit a photo of the cat “clearly showing facial area,” a copy of her shot records, and a list of her turn ons and turn offs. Then a month or two later, they decided they would also like a copy of our personal property insurance policy. Never ye mind that this only covers OUR SHIT. The master policy for the building covers everything else. But it’s OK, and now I have permission to harbor a cat, and the cat has permission to mess up our shit as much as she sees fit.
I told her she was approved. She still doesn’t care to come out from behind the washing machine, because the upholsterer was here for about thirty seconds to attend to a blight upon the ottoman. This is traumatic for a cat, apparently. I think she’s stuck back there. It was traumatic for me in that he also told me the story of the Great Fire that occurred on this property some years back. Lo, the townspeople came and watched. I knew all about this because Mr. H was townspeople who watched. Maybe Mr. H stood somewhere near the upholsterer. Barrrrring. Move along.
Now someone outside is yelling “YEAH BABY,” Austin-Powers-style. I am totally liveblogging. I hate you too.