Of Magnets and Parmesan

This gal is a fantastic writer. Perspective and the journey will always show us what we need to learn about ourselves. Huge props for being so open with the random strangers who come across this blog. Change is always difficult, but unhappiness is harder to endure.

Fieldwork in Stilettos

This time around was easy: I mailed the book I’d borrowed from The European back to his house, pushed the magnets he’d given me to the side of the fridge and called a plumber.

This is either where they filmed Adelle’s “Rolling in the Deep” or its my living room. I’ll let you decide.

Calling a plumber isn’t part of my usual break up procedure, mind you, but now that I’m a homeowner, I’ve been forced to make a few adjustments to the customary wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I jest.

There was no wailing this time. No gnashing of teeth. There were a few tears, a few curses mumbled under my breath, but the latter were primarily related to the fact that I’d left an entire jar of shredded Parmesan cheese in his fridge and wanted it for my pasta.

I will also miss his toothbrush.

And his bed.

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