As you might know, dad could be a little . . . irrational . . . about certain things, like travel and personal hygiene. While I entertain none of the same anxiety about these aspects of life, I have adopted my dad's home care fixation. Every time someone drags a piece of furniture across my hardwood floors, I cringe - even though I've preempted such negligence by attaching felt to the bottom of every chair, couch, futon, table, and nightstand leg. Every time I look at the inside of the bathroom door, my stomach drops a little. (At the height of her separation anxiety, we misguidedly left Panda in the bathroom, thinking she could do little damage. She tried her hardest to get to us, making toothpicks out of that door. Sigh.) And even though I've tried to accept the necessity of putting holes in the wall to hang pictures and kitchen utensil-holding peg boards, it still pains me to do it.
So it is with my dad's (and now my) neurosis in mind that I proudly post the following pictures of the condo, which I think we've kept in pretty good shape. Thanks, dad, for teaching me the value of proper (better than proper: near-obsessive) home care.
(The pictures are intended to
entice a subletter for next year, when we'll be in Paris. If you know anyone who needs a place for next academic year, let me know!!)
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