You can tell how excited/nervous I am for a date by how much I clean my apartment before the date happens. This is one of those things I do regardless of whether or not I have any expectation that the date will actually see my apartment. It’s a productive way to channel my nervous energy. And if it just so happens that he sees the inside of my apartment, he should see it at its best, right?
Tonight, my apartment is in worse shape than usual, because I am in the middle of the Great Unboxing. I’ve finally decided to remove all my CDs (approximately… 3000?) and DVDs (about 600) from their boxes and store them in much more space-efficient binders. When this project is done, the result will be a glorious clutter-free house. But since I can’t quite part with all the original packaging, my living room is currently stacked with cardboard boxes holding the empty cases, plus more boxes from Amazon that brought the binders to me in the first place. (I’m only about 40% through this project. It is, needless to say, massive.)
But I’ve stacked the boxes best I can so my little Roomba can do his thing in the living room. (His name is Jacob, after the houseboy in La Cafe Aux Folles.) I’ve finally gone through that pile of mail and recycled most of it. I emptied the trash cans. Swept the bathroom. Scrubbed the toilet. Made my bed. Tidied up the paperwork on the dining room table, and attempted to do the same on the kitchen island.
Then I get a text message. He’s stuck in traffic. No worries, I reply. I was just going to walk over to the restaurant, I can delay my departure. He texts back confused – the only address he has is my apartment.
Shit. He’s coming here. And suddenly I’m scrubbing the stovetop and washing any dishes remaining in the sink. I sure hope this one’s worth it.