Last weekend, a strange thing happened. We heard Heidi (of Jeffty Jeff and Heidi) ask Craig (the dude next door with the balcony) if she could use his phone. Sure, said Craig, who says sure to just about anything, because he's that kind of guy. It drove me crazy trying to figure out why, in the year of our Lord 2005, a 23 year old girl would need to use someone else's land line.
Today, all became clear. As I was walking down the street towards my building, I saw Heidi's truck pulled ass-first up the driveway. I had to beat down the sudden twinge of possibility that had sprung up within me. No, I told myself. There's no way she's moving out. They've only lived together for five months, have no hobbies or music in common, and hate each other's friends. What could possibly go wrong? Then, as I drew closer, I saw the trunk open and the back of the truck filled with garish strumpet costumes. The trash bags full of belongings outside their front door confirmed my glorious suspicions.
I fished the mail out of the box as quickly as I could, walked to my door like my ass was on fire, and alerted Chris to the goodness taking place without. "Heidi's moving out!" I hissed. "Her shit's already in her truck!" We jumped up and down like Halliburton employees after a major natural disaster, and reveled in our good fortune.
No more high pitched squeals during drunken parties at 3 am.
No more rusty pink bike cluttering up our back yard.
No more tiny socks with pink dingle balls in the dryer.
Our dinner tasted a little better, the night air seemed a little crisper. I wanted to shout "Huzzah!" and send a passing beggar boy to the butcher shop, to buy the biggest goose in the window. For it is Christmas Day!
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