A couple of months ago I got a new roommate. I’ve burned through quite a few
roommates during my time in Hoboken, but this one’s a little bit different-she’s
my GIRLFRIEND.
Yeah, for the past few months I have been living in sin, and to be quite honest, it’s
not a bad set up. We turned a three-bedroom railroad into a nice little duplex, with
my other roommate enjoying half of the apartment. The place is noticeably cleaner,
not that she’s doing it, but because if I don’t, then I must fear her wrath. Plus, the
dog’s happy to have someone else who’ll walk her.
But there are a few things that I wasn’t expecting from my little co-habitation
experiment. For example, I was not aware that I needed a “shower caddy,” since
my bar of Dial and bottle of Pert seemed to fit fine on the edge of the tub. Oh, and
apparently the Irish flag is NOT an acceptable “window treatment.” And
unbeknownst to me after three years of living in serene, off-white bliss, my
apartment now needs to be painted.
I have to blame my girlfriend’s cousin, Anne Marie, for planting the paint bug. She
has her poor fianc