Given the amount of digital ink I have spilled on its flaws, one would be forgiven for thinking that I would be ready to put the F.U. in the Fun Apartment.
After all, its shortcomings were well-publicized (here): There was bathroom. There was the size. There was the bedtime. There was the laundry. There was the size. There was the stove with no temperature knob. There was the impossible nap. There was the size. There were the bedbugs. There was the plumbing. There were not enough shelves. There was the size. There were the couches. There was the cat. There were the stairs. There was the clutter. There was the sea monkey invasion. There was more clutter. And all the other clutter.
But no. Despite all those smallcomings, I was not ready. But that ultimately did not matter, because . . .
Did you guys all feel the planet wobble slightly on its axis last week? I know I did–because as of Thursday, the Fun Apartment belongs to SOMEONE ELSE.
(For those of you keeping track of blog post scheduling, this–and my fear of jinxing–will explain a lot.)
You probably won’t even recognize me now! After more than six months in our new apartment, I am almost like a regular person, who lives in a regular-sized home with doors and rooms! My elaborate demands are all (almost!) met!
One legacy of living in the Fun Apartment: the Man of My Dreams and I find it impossible to speak above a whisper after bedtime. I even keep the lights low, just in case it shines through the door to wake up the kids.
And for nearly eight months, we were real estate barons! We owned not one but TWO apartments! After this shocking news, I will offer those familiar with New York City housing a moment to revive themselves with oxygen. We had one palatial home to live in, and then we also had a bathroom in Chelsea! I could have sold tickets! Heady times. But I did begin to wonder how real estate tycoons get their reputation for wealth, because we were pretty broke sitting on those two apartments.
But that whole baronetcy thing must have taken hold to some degree, because we grabbed the cash from across the closing table and immediately invested in a second domicile that sleeps four comfortably!
But handing over keys to the Fun Apartment has not been emotionally uncomplicated. Putting it on the market was tricky, as we had to find realtors prepared to use a “cosy nest full of light and charm” approach, rather than a “get ready to renovate this dump” approach. We lucked out–our valiant realtors staged it so well that when I viewed the listing, I thought they must have sent the wrong link, because I certainly didn’t recognize the wonder palace in the photos. When all of us visited one evening, Little ran in gasping “Wow! Could we live here??”
And it worked! The Fun Apartment’s siren song has lured in yet another lost soul. The
poor sucker lovely young woman who is now its proud owner wrote us a love letter to express her profound feeling of connection with the place.
Maybe she will start a blog. Indeed, I am not sure if I should still have one. Without the constraints and warm embrace of the Fun Apartment, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I doubt I would have started a blog without it. I definitely would not have told you guys about it. We had our fifteen minutes of fame. Now, I’m not sure there’s enough schadenfreude involved in watching a mediocre parent doggedly elbowing her way through life with her family of bozos in a perfectly reasonable space with a view of the park. Let me know what you think.
I freely admit: I was unprepared for this part of un-owning the Fun Apartment: I miss it on a visceral level. I texted the Mr. on the way to the closing, begging him to scuttle the deal. (Wisely, for the first time ever, he chose to ignore my advice.)
But, what some people (my mom) failed to grasp about living in the Fun Apartment, was that it was like living inside a tiny cathedral. Every nook was unique, every corner held a secret, every shadow had character, every square foot had a story.
Every time I felt unsettled, unsafe, I would wildly scan the warm brick walls, the sturdy wood trim and think, here, here we can be ok. This is our home. Inside this jewel box, I am safe and I can hear my loved ones breathing.
And like all flawed things, it was perfect.