Jenny Holiday

How about we call it even when I throw the rest of this cake out the window?

November 16, 2005 // Tagged with: , , , ,

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Lulu, as you know, recently purchased a condo. I have not bought her a housewarming gift. There is a certain point in your life when you’re old enough to be attuned to things like housewarming gifts but still young enough to have friends that move every 18 months. It presents a dilemma for the modern girl.

When Mr. Mock and I shacked up, I was overwhelmed by the number of books he owned. Never mind that the number of books he owned was, when I had visited his apartment in the past, his most charming and attractive quality. When they – all two thousand of them – were suddenly under my roof, I freaked out and had daily clutter-induced panic attacks.

When it became clear that an evening get-together I was having for some girlfriends shortly after moving to the new place was being reinterpreted as a housewarming, I adamantly insisted that I would not allow a single additional object to pass through my door. I jokingly told them that the best give they could give me was to come and shoplift an armload of books. (Seriously, we [and by “we” I mean “he”] had not one, but two, copies of Robert’s Rules of Order. I like to think that if we suddenly had to revert to parliamentary procedure in our apartment, that one copy would do. But I digress.)

So everyone heeded my warnings and I received no margarita sets, no bamboo placemats, no bud vases.

But now Lulu’s moved and I kind of recapped this whole thing to her recently when we were pigging out at my place, demolishing a chocolate cake. I felt bad, I said, that I hadn’t gotten her a housewarming gift. Lulu was feeling bloated and I think she blamed me for the ungodly amount of food we had consumed.

And really, this whole story is set up for what she said next…

“How about we call it even,” she said, “when I throw the rest of this cake out the window and leave you to clean it up.”

“Deal,” I said.

 

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