Thursday, December 1, 2011


Email to: Rohit, Meera, Lucy and John
Hey guys – Looking forward to seeing you tonight for a little housewarming at Desi Girl’s new digs. Just as an FYI this apartment heat is hotter than the Washington Hgts apt, which was like living in Havana. This apt is like living in the center of the sun, dress accordingly.

A few hours later I pop out of my apartment to buy cheese, salami, babaganoosh, hummus, French bread, chips and grapes. Of course my usual grocer is out of salami, so I have to stop by another grocery store. I get home prepare trays of snacks and set them out on a thali (Indian metal tray) then lay down a comforter for the carpet floor picnic.

Lucy and John arrive first, they take a seat on the floor, I offer them wine, pull the thalis out of the fridge and sit down. “So do you want the tour?” I ask. Lucy laughs, John nods. “So this is the ‘living room’, behind the French doors is the bedroom, to the left is the hallway to the bathroom, flanked by the closet to the left and the ‘kitchen’ to the right, and that my friends completes your tour,” I say. “Considering it is small, you utilize every bit of space,” Lucy says. John nods. “And do you love it?” Lucy asks. “Yes,” I reply immediately and then pause. Feeling like when you make such a declarative statement, it comes back to bite you in the ass.

Meera, Rohit and the baby arrive next. Meera is wearing the thickest turtleneck sweater I have ever seen and I grew up in Minnesota. I hope she does not melt tonight. As soon as Rohit and Meera are “seated” I order in two pizzas from Luigi’s. “Is that delivery guy going to have to carry up two large pies up ALL those stairs?” Lucy asks. I nod. “I’ll tip him,” I reply. "I would tip everyone. There is no way I'd carry stuff up all these stairs for the next year," Lucy says. "Tell me you do Fresh Direct," she says. "Sometimes," I reply.

The pizza comes, we eat. Because you can hear everything in this building, we hear the upstairs neighbor come home, slam the front door, kick off his shoes, walk around and then quiet. About half an hour later John gets up, goes into the bathroom, comes back and says, “Desi Girl, your bathroom is leaking.” “Okay, thanks,” I say. My reaction is calm and this unsettles John because he again says, “No, really, the bathroom is leaking, like leaking…” John, who is very calm and laid back, says with a little concern in his tone. I get up, walk into the bathroom and see the same mess from a few days ago, only BIGGER. This time MORE water is seeping through the ceiling, running down the walls and coming way too dangerously close to the light fixture.

Ugh, this again?

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