We are finally moving into our new place today! Since we’ve been packing for nearly a month now, our life has been scattered into unfindable fragments. Note: food styling tweezers don’t do a thing for eyebrows. Anyway, the shell of our old apartment looks like a run down store-front art gallery in Belleville. Too bad we already ate all the canapés.
Helping my husband pack up his life, the only skeleton in his closet is his backbreaking collection of photo books. Needless to say, after a long winter and spring of hachis parmentier and projectfreetv, we definitely made up for lost cardio.
Despite a brutal cold and a metal pipe in the trachea, I am now relishing in the raspy voice of my dreams. If you don’t know me, I have a distinctively high voice. Like “I’m sorry, if your mother home?” kind of high. Let’s just say somewhere between boy soprano and Sarah Jessica Parker on helium. To finally have a voice deeper than my elementary English students is a thrill. But my voice is slowly creeping back. Bummer, no need for that vanity electrolarynx.
So, farewell the grimiest apartment I have ever know. You were also the happiest. You will not be missed, but you will be remembered.
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