Thespia and Pippa are moving this weekend. They'll be in a neighborhood where everything is convenient, instead of in a neighborhood of old brownstones, falling ever farther into disrepair, too far from the subway on a winter morning, too far from grocery stores any old day. From their new place they can easily walk to work and to school and all the gourmet sandwiches and salumis a person could wish for are at hand. They will have half the living space at twice the price.
Thespia was, initially, determined to keep the house. Strengthened in her resolve, no doubt, by Dweez's insistence that she move the hell out of there so the place can be sold and he - who insisted on buying in the edgy neighborhood, the potential for vibrance (I may vomit) - now believes that his darling daughter should not be living around the corner from a crack house. Well, and then he can buy the edgy loft dwelling of his current dreams and install the appropriate arm candy. If he hadn't steadfastly ignored monthly obligations, in the process of leaving the marriage, thus wrecking their mutual and respective credits, somebody might even sell him a place to live. Just because I think he should be doomed to remain in the 60's concrete box with little light and no amenities, mighty lak a side road motel, where he moved when he Moved Out, doesn't mean it's gonna happen that way. I spill vitamin C powder all over my pajamas, on its way to the glass - I should think things might go my way? Ever?
Well, and then there's the new community where Thespia's moving, where the rumor is she's pursuing a romance. "Pippa says she'll be the flower girl when you marry" writes Dweez, Mr. Rains On Every Parade. "Where are you registered?" Strong temptation to say "IKEA" or "Trader Joe." Brave Thespia sails on into the what comes next.
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