Courtney and I embarked on the adventure that is house hunting yesterday afternoon. She needs something short term, and so wanted to find an apartment near moi since she would be living alone. Such excursions always prove to be interesting, especially in the Avenues. There was the landlady of what turned out to be a pretty elderly complex who said she could have a dog but she would have to clear it with the cats downstairs. The place smelled comforting...like grandparents. I thought of how Grandpa always smells of Listerine, and The Parent Trap grandpa who smelt of tobacco and peppermint was it?
We then ventured to the third story of a home that reeked of gas even before entering. I thought maybe I was wrong, but when we walked into what was really a great apartment, the smell was overwhelming. I asked the landlady if it was gas that I smelled. She explained that yes it was because she had turned off the pilot to the stove and furnace until it was rented. I'm just glad that I left my matches in the car.
As we left the residence, a truck pulled up and a guy yelled out, "But ladies! We just got here!", Courtney laughed and then said under her breathe, "Walk fast". It's a strange phenomenon how such attention can make you blush and boost confidence while creeping you out at the same time. Don't tell me that it isn't true, because it is. I long for the days when I got whistled at daily in Toronto. I don't know what it was about the bad haircut, frumpy mission clothes and sensible shoes that solicit such attention. Yet, I have to admit, that those moments served well to remind me that I was, in fact, a girl.
She found a place in the end. And then we rewarded ourselves with a cinematic treat of Nacho Libre. Which I loved by the way. But we seemed to be the only ones in the theatre laughing. Sad.