Today, D.R. and I planned to take Alice to the dog park, then drive around looking for apartments. We would run her about and she would fall exhausted, and adorable, on the back seat of the car to sleep away the afternoon. See how adorable and well-behaved our dog is, Mr. Apartment Manger. Please give us the apartment with central air and dishwasher. We will strumpet our dog if it will just bring a GD dishwasher!
D.R. took Alice out front to let her pee, and I headed to the garage loaded down with my purse, water bottles and mail to be sent off . . . and no keys--whoops. D.R. didn't have any either and our apartment manager wasn't home to let us in. Can't get into the locked car. Can't get into our locked apartment. Nothing to do but walk to the post office then find a place to spend the afternoon. We ended up here with a carafe of wine and some things to nibble. OK, maybe there were two carafes of wine.
|Tipsy and windblown.|
1. While he has shown no desire up until this point, D.R. has until the age of 37 to be a skateboarder. After that it's lame.
2. I have to give away the skirt I'm wearing. "It's very industrial," D.R. says, "and you're not industrial." I'm going to consider that a compliment.
Thwarted, but certainly not a wasted day.