The Fiance and I officially have a place to call Our Home (in two weeks). I filled out the application, it got approved, and they have half of our security deposit, waiting patiently for the other half.
Say it with me people, HOORAY.
The apartment is beautiful. And large. And not at all infested with creatures of many, varied sizes and leg counts. I asked. Most importantly, people, is the size of the bathroom. I can do cartwheels. In the bathroom. Probably two of them. So when I'm found performing gymnastics routines after my shower - practicing for the upcoming Olympics, you know - I'm solely doing it for no other reasons than, A) the Olympics, and B) to prove HOW LARGE this bathroom is.
I'd go so far as to say it's nearly unnecessarily large.
And I'd SAY that, until I walk into the closet, which, honest to God, IS too large. Maybe this is because I've spent the past seven months in a studio apartment (that is roughly the size of this closet I speak of). But still, I may be able to display my acrobatic abilities in the bathroom, but I bet I can assemble a full cast of performers to perform Riverdance right there in my own bedroom closet. Which also contains a washer and dryer. And I bet if I got really angry, I could assemble a bed in the closet and sleep there.
"No, darling. Sorry. I'll be sleeping in the closet tonight. With the washer, dryer, and entire ensemble of Riverdance."
The times up ahead, they will be magical.