The Struggle is Real - My goal since resigning myself to moving out so the realtor could stage my house (and hopefully rid it of the stinky cat stink) has been “do one thing a ni...
Aug 15, 2006
Getting the keys...
When I first met my new landlord, I began to wonder...
but I ignored my intuition.
Anyway, he seems like a nice enough man, early 60's, nice-looking well- dressed....didn't seem to get my jokes, but he seemed to like me.
When I went to sign the lease, I went over to his house, sat for a while and chatted genially about the hurricane, New Orleans---the typical topics of conversation nowadays. I asked him how many apartments he had.
He thought for a while and said,
"Hmmm, well, between me, my ex-wife and my sons, I guess about a hundred"
"Wow" I said.
Not long after I signed the lease, I called him saying that I wanted to get the keys early if possible, so I could do some cleaning up.
He said "Sure, but could you come tonight, before 6. We're having some people over for dinner."
"Sure, thanks," I said.
So I raced over, in my old, rattiest clothes, dressed to clean and mop. I just wanted to pick up the keys and run.
I got there, rang the doorbell, and a boy about 19 or so answered the door. He looked puzzled. So did I, I guess.
"Ummm...." I started. I wanted to ask "Is your father home?" but something wisely held me back.
I asked instead "Is Edward here?"
He (the landlord) had sort of insisted on me using his first name, which I found odd.
I mean I was raised in the South after all. One uses the proper titles for one's elders.
The boy turned his head and called into the house
"Edward, someone's here to see you!"
Then the bell went off again...this time like a gong.
No one calls his father by his first name....maybe his "daddy," but not his father.
Edward came to the door. He invited me in. I sat down uncomfortably. He went off to get the keys while I waited. I could see the table set for 8 in the next room.
I just wanted the keys and to get going.
He returned and we made idle chit chat about the apartment.
Suddenly, from the front door burst a young man, clearly a Tulane student (the house is practically *on* campus) or grad student, weighted under bags of groceries. He was tall and thin and good looking, all of 25 or so.
Edward lit up and announced proudly, "This is Liam, my partner." Then he introdoced me.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to feel really.
(By the way "Liam" didn't seem to like me much for some reason....but maybe I was just imagining that)
I took the keys, smiled and left.
On the way home however, I did a lot of thinking. A part of me was pleased. I mean they (however many of them there are) seem nice enough after all. And it somewhat gave me ....oh, almost a sort of much needed "hope," their relationship. Besides seeing gay relationships up close always pleases me, like an ornithologist must feel when sighting a rare ivory billed woodpecker or something
But a big part of me was envious. It's petty of me, I know....but still. I mean really.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want a handsome 25 year old bringing in groceries for a dinner party or anything (ok, well....so, maybe the bringing in the groceries part would be nice).
But why is it that 25 year olds are only interested in wealthy older men; why are the wealthy older men are only interested in 25 year olds; and everyone my own age only interested in 20 year olds? Argh.
I know the answers of course, I just don't like them.