The Orange Door Is No More

I wish Tiffany and I were the kind of people who had the time or talent to turn an orange door into a piece of art. Or the kind of people who had an apartment big enough to display such a piece of art. But we're not. Maybe someday.

Anyway, shortly after Tiffany dragged the orange door up to our apartment, we put it outside on our patio until we could "do something with it." But instead it just sat there. Through rain. And snow. And more rain and snow. We made one half-hearted attempt to peel away the layers of paint and then we made a judgment call. We decided the door had to go. We needed space for flower pots. 

"It's kind of sad," I said, as Tiffany leaned the door up against a tree outside our building.

"Yeah," Tiffany agreed.

"Such a great keyhole."

We stood for a few seconds, and then we turned and went back upstairs.

A few days later, we were on our way to dinner. We passed a woman and a man walking together. I noticed the woman was staring intently at something. I turned and saw the orange door leaning up against a wall on someone else's patio.

"Hey," the woman said to her companion. "That's my mom's door."

She took a picture with her phone.

Tiffany and I smiled at each other.

The next night, someone put four flower pots out on the curb. 

We took them home.

Invisible Stuff

When I tried to step down from the linen closet shelf to the sink, I knew I was in trouble. 

"Help me, Tiffany," I called.

"Seriously?"

I considered my options. I was perched like a koala bear straddling the door jam, several feet off the ground. In one hand, I held on for dear life. In the other, I clutched the bar of Irish Spring soap I'd climbed up for. 

"Yes," I said. "Very seriously."

Tiffany and I have less room for stuff in our new apartment. And all the room we do have is extremely vertical, meaning people like us, who stand 5 feet 3 inches off the ground, can't see it or reach it, hence my unfortunate climb (Tiffany eventually rescued me by lifting me out of the linen closet).

Our storage woes cause all sorts of other problems too.

A couple of weeks ago, we went to Target to stock up on:

Irish Spring

laundry detergent

razors

tampons

dish washing soap

face soap 

face lotion

only to find when Tiffany koala-ed up to put the stuff away that we already had extra quantities of:

Irish Spring

laundry detergent

razors

tampons

dish washing soap

face soap 

face lotion

that we'd forgotten about. 

So even though we have less space for stuff, we actually have more stuff because we can't see any of the stuff we do have.

Donut Money

I knew as soon as we stepped onto the train that we'd picked the wrong car. There was a woman standing in the middle of the aisle and she was bundled up in ten or twenty coats and her skin was like leather and her eyes were black dots, hating. As soon as the doors closed, she began screaming at the top of her lungs. Something about JFK and then:

"You can take your donut money and shove it up your..."

"Did that woman just say donut money?" I whispered to Tiffany.

"Yes," Tiffany whispered back. "Yes, definitely donuts."

I've never had specific donut money. I've had laundry money and lunch money and fun money, which my mom sometimes slips into a card that she mails me with a little note, like: "Get your hair done!" or "Go to the movies!" or "Buy an ice-cream!"

But never donut money, although I do love donuts. I tried not to make eye contact with the woman, but the further I turned my eyes from her face, the closer she got to me physically.

"I don't want your donut money!" she spat.

I changed tactics, trying to express my understanding of her position with a slight nod of my head. Who would want my donut money, if I had any?

She turned away from me suddenly.

"F*#$ you and you!" she screamed, wheeling around in a circle. "I know who killed JFK! F*#$ you!"

"Did she just say..."

"Yes," Tiffany hissed. "Shhh."

Suddenly another passenger began to sing, right at the angry screaming woman.

"Oh god," I whispered.

"F*#$..."

"HALLELUJAH..."

"JFK..."

"PRAISE JESUS..."

"DONUT MONEY..."

"LORD LIFT ME UP..."

But then the lord did something better. He let Tiffany and I out at the next stop.