inside jokes
Mar. 28th, 2020 01:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2WRRzfc
So my dude, Z, and I live in a little bitty house on a suburban street. It’s a little bitty house, a Cape Cod from like 1950, with all the original fixtures, which sounds nice on paper but in practice means that it’s old enough to be dingy but not old enough to be cool. But anyhow. It’s got two tiny bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room. That’s it. (It’s about 900 square feet, and what’s hilarious is when I was looking up tiny houses to replace the yurt, how many places had 900sf floor plans labeled “tiny house”. like, fuck off, that’s a normal house.)
Across the street is a high school. They’re closed down at the moment, of course. Z and I go for walks sometimes, and yesterday we walked past the high school. I noticed that the window in the corner said WEIGHT ROOM in it, and commented on it.
“All the rooms are labeled from the outside,” he pointed out. MUSIC ROOM, said another. We went around the front. The rooms had numbers printed in the windows. 104. 221. We speculated that it was for, like, fire and rescue and such. Easy to orient yourself, especially if you have like a map of the building or something, or if someone’s like “students have taken shelter in the weight room” or something. I’m sure there’s some policy. Z had noticed it at the community college downtown too, room numbers in the window.
Somehow, as we walked, we decided we should a) number the rooms of our house, and b) label them from the outside on the windows. This began with the predictable “call the kitchen the kitchen” train of thought, but I was immediately like, “no, the numbers should be non-contiguous and unrelated” because I’m me. He was like, giving the first floor all 100-level numbers, and that’s our only floor really (we have an attic and basement but neither are finished or like, climate-controlled), and I was like no, the living room is Room 33 and that’s that.
Anyway. This morning, in this tiny house, no longer thinking about the entire preceding conversation, I was expecting Z to come sit on the couch beside me for coffee, as he usually does on weekends. (On weekdays he logs in to work as soon as he wakes up and spends coffee time whispering curse words at his computer and being unable to be spoken to.) But he vanished. I suspected he went out to the sunporch instead, but it’s cold and rainy this morning.
So instead of yelling around the house, I just texted him. where did u go
He texted back I’m in room 104a
So my dude, Z, and I live in a little bitty house on a suburban street. It’s a little bitty house, a Cape Cod from like 1950, with all the original fixtures, which sounds nice on paper but in practice means that it’s old enough to be dingy but not old enough to be cool. But anyhow. It’s got two tiny bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room. That’s it. (It’s about 900 square feet, and what’s hilarious is when I was looking up tiny houses to replace the yurt, how many places had 900sf floor plans labeled “tiny house”. like, fuck off, that’s a normal house.)
Across the street is a high school. They’re closed down at the moment, of course. Z and I go for walks sometimes, and yesterday we walked past the high school. I noticed that the window in the corner said WEIGHT ROOM in it, and commented on it.
“All the rooms are labeled from the outside,” he pointed out. MUSIC ROOM, said another. We went around the front. The rooms had numbers printed in the windows. 104. 221. We speculated that it was for, like, fire and rescue and such. Easy to orient yourself, especially if you have like a map of the building or something, or if someone’s like “students have taken shelter in the weight room” or something. I’m sure there’s some policy. Z had noticed it at the community college downtown too, room numbers in the window.
Somehow, as we walked, we decided we should a) number the rooms of our house, and b) label them from the outside on the windows. This began with the predictable “call the kitchen the kitchen” train of thought, but I was immediately like, “no, the numbers should be non-contiguous and unrelated” because I’m me. He was like, giving the first floor all 100-level numbers, and that’s our only floor really (we have an attic and basement but neither are finished or like, climate-controlled), and I was like no, the living room is Room 33 and that’s that.
Anyway. This morning, in this tiny house, no longer thinking about the entire preceding conversation, I was expecting Z to come sit on the couch beside me for coffee, as he usually does on weekends. (On weekdays he logs in to work as soon as he wakes up and spends coffee time whispering curse words at his computer and being unable to be spoken to.) But he vanished. I suspected he went out to the sunporch instead, but it’s cold and rainy this morning.
So instead of yelling around the house, I just texted him. where did u go
He texted back I’m in room 104a
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Date: 2020-03-28 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-03-28 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-03-28 04:51 pm (UTC)