If you're in a hurry, no. Lily did not come back. People say not to give up hope, that their cat left for 97 years and traipsed back in one day, but I have given up most of my hope.
In the meantime, I need your help on two things. First of all, Ned and I found a house, possibly. Oh, it's cute, It was built in 1928, and it's two stories, with a fireplace and wood floors and crystal doorknobs and a screened-in porch and a pretty exposed staircase in the living room and a farmer's sink in the kitchen and really it's charming. Full basement, too, for murderers and spiders to dwell. Fenced-in yard. Three bedrooms and an office.
Oh, and cheaper, too!
But here's the thing. It's in Winston-Salem. You know we're forever schlepping there, and we think it's cooler there, so we were all, Why not move to Winston-Salem?
So now we almost are, and I'm hesitant. What do you guys think?
My commute will be 37 minutes. Ned's will be a little less than that. Now, in LA, 37 minutes was a totally acceptable commute. But currently, my commute is 6 minutes. Maybe 10 if it's trafficky, and boy do I get pissed on those days. I mean, is it worth it? What say you?
This delapidated old bag is what Ned uses to schlep his laundry. He got this bag when he was 17 and on his way to college. He is now 49. That, if you do the math, adds up to 67 years he's had this bag. Last time he went to his mom's and brought laundry, because he's 17 like when he got his bag, his mom said, "After you're done, let's throw out that bag."
"What do you mean?" asked Ned, incredulous.
"Oh, my god, your mom hates that bag, too!" I said, overjoyed. Ned says that bag is perfectly serviceable and there's nothing wrong with it, and I say he's turning into my Uncle Leo, who when we look at slides from my childhood will often be heard to say, "I still own that shirt!" And he's supposed to be gay. Where's the dapper in owning a shirt for 49 years? I guess he's going retro.
The point is, I would never be one of those women to tell a man to get rid of something. I really wouldn't. I think that's awful. Once I was sleeping over at my grandmother's and when I woke up, she and the dog were ripping up a pair of my grandfather's pajamas. "These were too scroungy," she said. Scroungy was a big thing with her, as was jakey. I think they kind of meant the same thing.
The dog, a dalmatian, had one foot on the pajama legs and was murdering them gleefully. I can still see him.
So I'm not saying do you think Ned should dispense with the bag and get, oh, a laundry hamper like a normal person. I am just saying do you agree that bag is awful? Oh my god, I should have gotten him a bag JUST LIKE IT for his birthday so he could replace. Why do you always think of the excellent ideas too late? It's like when you tell someone off brilliantly 12 hours after they've said that rude thing.
Okay, so I gotta go. Is it worth it, the commute for a town we really like and a way cute house in a great neighborhood? What say you? Do you wish I'd say "what say you" some more?
What say youingly,
P.S. Am I the worst self-promoter, ever? Here's my latest Purple Clover, about when Ned and I went to the strip club.