I’ve told you before about the couple who live next door to me, the young British couple with their two little kids. They actually own George, the Giant Aloe. My windows look into their yard, and I’ve spent happy hours watching Chris build things and Lisa play with the little ones. They’re one of those happy families that do the heart good to witness.
So yesterday when I was going through art supplies and found a HUGE box of Crayons, the super-duper crazy-cool hard-sided box, I took it next door. The kids are about four and five, and I think that’s the right time for Crayons…. I hope it is, anyway. I knocked on the door and waited. Then I rang the doorbell and waited. I stood on the porch and waved at Shirley who was walking by with her slobbery German Shepherd named Shadow, and I watched the nice lesbian couple across the street – we’ve never formally met each other, but we smile conspiringly when we pass on the street. I’m going to MISS this place.
Then the door opened, and little four year old Luke was standing there, naked as the day he was born, grinning at me with this huge beaming smile. Lisa came up behind him quickly and said, “Good god. Sorry about that.” She took the Crayons and thanked me and then gave me the best compliment ever. Luke was still standing there, looking SO happy to be gazing up at me, dancing from foot and foot, and Lisa said, “You’re his favorite lady, you know. He says it every time he sees you. ‘There’s my favorite lady.’”
Dude. When a little boy with those angelic curls says that about you, you can’t help feeling pretty awesome.
So I’m packing now. I’ve really started. It’s just as terrifying, and I still haven’t heard about the loan, but it’s good to have started. I began with the hardest part, too: The Desk of Doom. I hate that desk. It’s possessed. Every time I’ve moved it, I’ve sworn I wouldn’t do it again, because it cruelly attacks at least one person, usually drawing blood. It’s heavy as hell and too big and really ugly. And it’s broken in about five places. I have NO clue why I’ve dragged it around with me. A writer needs a big desk, I thought. How often have I written at that desk? Like, never. So it goes. I’m going to finish cleaning it out tomorrow (since I have to go in to work early tonight and only have time for a run and a shower) and then give it away to some sucker. I’m not telling said sucker about the blood-drawing, either. He can find that out on his own. I’m no dummy.
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