A brief move-out update, then a “real” post to get caught up.
In writing a note to my new tenants, levity came in on goofy little angel wings and I found peace about leaving Chicago and my condo behind (for now.)
The note I needed to write was a brief-but-thorough list of “what to know’s” about my apartment, e.g., the maintenance guys will fix that spot in the hallway ceiling this week, the laundry cards are here, help yourself to the contents of the liquor cabinet, etc. One of the last items was my request that they squeegee the shower in the master bathroom.
Squeegee. Squeegee?? That is possibly the best word there is.
From the note:
2. Please squeegee the master shower. Is this finicky? Maybe. But I just put that shower in and I know from my squeegee-loving mother than if you give the glass the once over with the squeegee after you’re done showering, you won’t have those awful, cloudy water stains on your shower glass. Please squeegee. (Also, if you’re feeling burnt out on your studies — or feeling sad about leaving the city you love, ahem — I recommend writing the word “squeegee” several times as I have just done.)
My tenants probably think I’m in insane. But, just like that, writing squeegee that many times, sitting at the gate at Midway, waiting for my flight to LGA, I felt better. Like, totally better.
I also had to get over myself and my melancholy because I had a back brush and a teakettle in my carryon. They wouldn’t fit in the suitcase.
Squeegee, teakettle.
New York.
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