We have nicknamed our first apartment the Chapman Mouse Hole. It’s a tiny one-bedroom apartment off of College Avenue, about two blocks from BYU-Idaho’s campus. The whole apartment complex has a poignant, unidentifiable smell that changes daily. If you are able to figure out how to get to the second flight of stairs, you might be able to find our apartment, which is nestled on the third floor between #305 and #307. Usually when people come to visit my husband and I, they sound surprised at how accurate I was in describing our microscopic abode. In the summer, we immediately offer our guests a glass of cold water as they look like they just entered a sauna unprepared.
After the guests have left, and my husband and I have somehow fallen into heat-stroke coma’s we now call sleep, we are awakened by what I am convinced is a UFO. It’s four in the morning, and my husband assures me that the city of Rexburg is simply cleaning the streets with a remarkably loud truck in the middle of the night. A UFO makes more sense to me.
In the morning, we throw our breakfast garbage in an overflowing trashcan. It’s overflowing because the dumpster is located two blocks away in the parking lot where we have to park our cars overnight. My husband gets on the computer to finish up some last minute homework, but it’s been three days since the Internet has worked. Meanwhile, I’m in the shower with water above my ankles, because no matter how much Drain-o we dump down the pipe, the shower will never be unclogged. We fixed the clogged sink, though… there was a nail file in it. We’d like to open our front door to cool down the walk-in closet we call home, but the two unsupervised one-year-old children come in to whatever apartment has the door open. The windows don’t stay up all the way, the floor in the bathroom is sinking, and our closet is the size of a vertical coffin.
If anyone is interested in renting an apartment, I know a place that’s for sale.
After the guests have left, and my husband and I have somehow fallen into heat-stroke coma’s we now call sleep, we are awakened by what I am convinced is a UFO. It’s four in the morning, and my husband assures me that the city of Rexburg is simply cleaning the streets with a remarkably loud truck in the middle of the night. A UFO makes more sense to me.
In the morning, we throw our breakfast garbage in an overflowing trashcan. It’s overflowing because the dumpster is located two blocks away in the parking lot where we have to park our cars overnight. My husband gets on the computer to finish up some last minute homework, but it’s been three days since the Internet has worked. Meanwhile, I’m in the shower with water above my ankles, because no matter how much Drain-o we dump down the pipe, the shower will never be unclogged. We fixed the clogged sink, though… there was a nail file in it. We’d like to open our front door to cool down the walk-in closet we call home, but the two unsupervised one-year-old children come in to whatever apartment has the door open. The windows don’t stay up all the way, the floor in the bathroom is sinking, and our closet is the size of a vertical coffin.
If anyone is interested in renting an apartment, I know a place that’s for sale.
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I like to hear all of the beautiful things you have to say.