I have been keeping a secret about my life from you, dear readers. I do apologise. You see, for fear of jinxing anything and everything, I haven’t mentioned that a dear friend of mine and I have been searching for a place to rent together.
And when I say “searching”, I mean we looked on allhomes, found a place that looked good, went to the inspection with our applications at the ready, fell in love with the place (insofar as you can fall in love with an old apartment that is clearly fit only for two girls on student budgets), and began trying not to set our hearts on it.
From the moment I laid eyes upon the apartment’s bright-blue-feature-bench-top kitchen, I began referring to the place simply as “Smurf Kitchen“. Subsequently, my Facebook status updates in recent days have been along the lines of “Referees have been called; don’t slip away from me now, Smurf Kitchen“, and “Breaking news: Smurf Kitchen has a matching blue toilet, and I never again want to live in a place where the kitchen and toilet aren’t in sync.”
I told myself not to get too excited, and in the meantime contented myself with moving out of my house-sit (yes, I’m all done). With my high hopes appropriately muzzled, I wasn’t prepared for the phone call (a mere two working days after we visited the apartment) telling us that our application had been approved.
Smurf Kitchen, you are mine, and mine, and mine.
Oh, and did I mention that it’s my birthday tomorrow? It’s my birthday tomorrow. Thanks, universe.