Small story
I’ll admit that real estate is my porn. And it’s not the brownstoner festishy-kind that’s titillated by the concept of buying low and flipping. My real estate fetish has to do with space, not having enough of and wanting more, a lot more. Even though we live in a duplex apartment in Brooklyn, the kind my real-estate agent mother-in-law would describe as darling, it’s a compact unit. The best way I can explain it is to say our apartment has no halls just rooms that lead into each other. You’re in the kitchen and you step from tile onto parquet and you’re in the living room. Upstairs, you open French Doors and you go from our room into toddlerblogger’s room and from toddlerbloggers room into kinderblogger’s room and from kinderblogger’s room into the bathroom. I’d like to think it keeps us a close knit family but I also dream of having my own room someday, one that’s way down the hall. A hall long enough for a child to have to really think about what they are going to say before they burst open the door.
But for now, I have a drawer. My bedside drawer is the one place where I can put my private things, tuck away a notebook with ideas, cards from fatherblogger and house my “don’t touch” face creams. The problem is that lately, toddlerblogger has become extremely curious about nooks and crannies and compartments and open and closing and all that cause and effect kind of stuff. The other day he woke up before the sun was up and was walking around our room and I just didn’t want to open my eyes yet even though I could hear him open my drawer. What could he be doing, I wondered as I tried to return to a dream I’d already forgotten. The worst he could do is write on the wall. But then he started to say something, At…at…hat…hat…hat…hat. What hat what? I opened my eyes and there was toddlerblogger wearing my diaphragm on his head and pointing to it saying Hat! Hat! Hat!

November 27th, 2007 at 7:28 pm
OMG… now that is FUNNY.