Wednesday, June 4, 2014
In the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never called it home. This is illogical; I was made for this house, but at first it felt too new. The wallpaper was too fresh, the sofa too springy – it wasn’t “lived in.” I had hardly begun to use the pristine china before *she* came – Miss Long Legs, with her painted smile and peroxide-blond hair. Right away she, the giant, chipped the china and warmed the house with her plastic boyfriend, their legs dangling over the edge of the four-poster bed. But what can I say? I’m a wooden vestige of another era.