Last week my sister called and said there was a three bedroom apartment for rent in her building. Mind you this was after we had brunch at our friends' loft in Williamsburg that was sick. Sick as in, swing inside the apartment. As in, huge dining room table with two benches. As in, they are both graphic designers so of course their space is gorgeous and inventive and we are so jealous. The day before we had a playdate (one of H's little friends whose parents are our little friends) on the Upper West Side in an equally sick apartment. Sick as in, a foyer that was larger than our living room. As in, Will & Grace-sized rooms (and I swear, I don't even watch that show). As in, full-on views of the Hudson River. As in, the husband said to me on the 15-minute long grand tour, "So I am sure you know, this is a classic six." To which I replied, under my breath, "Yeah. Classic."
Is that jealousy you detect in my tone? Why, yes. Yes it is.
I just want more space. Real rooms. A place to put our desk that's not our bedroom if you know what I mean and I think you do.
So anyway, back to the phone call from my sister. We went right over and decided that we liked it. How could we not? THREE BEDROOMS, PEOPLE! EAT IN KITCHEN! DINING AREA! SUNKEN LIVING ROOM! THIRTY THOUSAND WALK-IN CLOSETS! Do you see where I am going with this?
We signed the lease today.
I'm sad to leave this neighborhood. But ready to start anew. And it'll be so very Brady Brides to live in the same building as my sister. I'm currently accepting treatments for a sitcom based on our circumstances.
So here we are at T minus 22 days and counting before doing what we do so well: pack up and move. We've now done it four times in six years. Anyone want to help?