Window into my Soul

There’s a pretty little gash on the upper part of my left arm, left by a wayward blind that was on a suicide mission to perpetuate my bodily injuries. (I don’t think I’ve had an entire day in my 26 years without a bruise or cut or something, somewhere on my body.)

My roommate has been in pursuit of new windows for our home for the past couple of months and her cousin/window man finally left word over the weekend that he would be here today to install our new windows!

I was thrilled when I heard the news. Finally! Windows that open! Screens to act like a holy Berlin wall that separates me from bitey, itchy, icky bugs! Cross breezes! The list is endless. We scrambled around this morning, taking down blinds and curtains, moving furniture and hiding unmentionables. My bed broke in the process, so now the left side of my bed is perched on a stack of books.

I judged public relations entries after work (Holla PR pros in Hawai’i! Nice job! Especially the dairy, how ironic that it was the first entry I judged.) and around 9:15 I approached the front steps of our row house with the giddy anticipation of a 18 year old virgin on prom night. Windows that open! Screens! Cross breezes! But there, shining around the panes of glass or whatever they used in windows in those days was the glint of the old metal window casings.

Cousin showed up, deposited the new windows wrapped in cardboard around the house, removed the old screens and called it a day. So now not only do we not have protection from the inquisitive eyes of 300 of our closest neighbors, we don’t have access to cross breezes or screens. I tried to temporarily rehang the blind in the bathroom, but as I pulled the cord to adjust the length, it sprung free from its restraints and landed on me with a clatter.

Cross breezes! Screens! Open Windows! Tomorrow you better be mine! (Or I’m coming after you, Cousin.)

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