CARRIE CLASSON (cont.)
navy blue with a huge bleach stain on it. This was a generous gesture on Peter's part. The blue towel is an absolute gem compared
“What will you use?” I asked.
“I'll use a small towel.”
“Just… small!” Peter said, as if I was getting a little too nosy. “I'll use a hand towel!”
I couldn't think of any decent hand towels roaming around at this point in the packing.
“You mean like a tea towel?”
“I'll be fine!” Peter said.
Now I have images of Peter getting out of the shower and drying himself with some tiny relic, with tulips in the corners embroidered long ago by an elderly aunt. And I fear the worst is yet to come.
Strategic lamps have disappeared, leaving corners of the house in utter darkness.
I did not point this out to Peter. He would only reassure me that the days are getting longer.
My biggest concern is that my desk, where I spend nearly all day, will be traveling without me. Peter is leaving behind his awfullooking desk and says I can use that. I am not excited.
His desk has some sort of tower on top of it, and a slide-out drawer where my keyboard is supposed to sit. I have no idea what will stop the drawer from sliding back in as I type, and I have tried not to consider this too deeply.
But, of course, we will get by. And I comfort myself by imagining how overwhelmed by luxuries I will be in our new place-once we finally get there.
Full-sized towels! Light in every room! My desk!
And Peter will get to work, implementing new systems for our new life together.
Till next time, Carrie
Carrie Classon is a writer and performer. She is the author of “ I’ve Been Waiting All My Life to be Middle Aged” and a syndicated columnist. Her memoir, “ Blue Yarn,” was released last year. Learn more: CarrieClasson. com.