It’s like my apartment knows I’m moving.

As you may or may not recall, I’ve had about a zillion floods, broken pipes, emptying hot water tanks, inoperable toilets, rivers cutting paths through the ceiling, etc, etc, etc. Back in the day when the constant water problems were still kind of funny and not yet soul crushingly annoying, my landlord would joke about my being an Aquarian. Of course the water flows to me, I’m the water carrier.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit that some of the attractiveness of swapping floors with Bill is to hand him over the flood torch while I move up to dry land. Not only will Steve & I have space and a smarmy guest room and big bright windows, Maggi & Naysa will no longer have those days when it is necessary to tread water in the kitchen. So last night while lounging on the couch with bellies full of red wine and spicy fajitas, the bathroom faucet experienced an epic fail and flooded the cabinet under the sink and the bathroom floor. When Bill came rushing down to fix it I told him that “I just knew I’d have another fucking water issue before moving, it’s like the place knows I’m leaving.”

And Bill replied “Awwww. The apartment’s crying.”