5 Jan 2006

I Love The Smell of Orville In The Morning

Our downstairs neighbour split with his fiance.

We don't know this because we ever talk to the guy (talk to our neighbours? Us? What, when there's the Internet to talk to?). We know it through casual observations.

We discovered they were engaged because we noticed they were getting lots of little identical pre-addressed envelopes in the mail featuring cutesy, cursive penmanship that only occurs when one has lost her mind in wedding planning and actually cares about that crap.

Then one morning a moving van pulled up and started taking things out of the apartment. Patrick and I became filled with glee over the traditional grunting sounds of moving. We weren't happy to see them specifically leave - only giddy with the thought that we could perhaps move into their apartment and take advantage of the awesome, awesome deck they have. Our deck is not a deck, but is more like a railing that two people can stand on while trying not to touch each other.

Anyway, Patrick called The Charmaniac to see what was up. She relayed to us that he was staying in the apartment and she was ridding herself of him. We grieved for the deck that never was.

Even if we hadn't received the scoop from our landlord, we would have figured out that this guy is now a bachelor because of the consistent smells that waft up the vents - specifically: cigarettes and microwaved popcorn. They are now his everything. Morning, evening, 2am - he's either lighting up another cigarette or tossing another bag of Orville Redenbacher into the microwave.

It's given me a new manipulation tool, though. Should Patrick (or I) ever start acting like a brat, all I'll have to do is shove kernels in his face and ask "YOU WANT THIS TO BE YOUR FUTURE?!? NO? THEN GO BUY ME PRESENTS."


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I have no shame

Need words? I'm a Toronto-based freelance writer who injects great ones into blogs, websites, magazines, ads and more. So many services, one lovely Jen (with one 'n').

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