T-minus three days
If I had to pick a number between zero and one hundred, I would say I down to about thirty percent embarrassed about the idea of bringing friends/family/strangers into this house. The three of us here have spent the last week bit-by-bit going through rooms, sorting the good from the bad and giving the a firm what for square on the chin. We’ve uncovered well over a century’s-worth of family photographs. Among the trove are several mid-late nineteenth century images that includes what appears to be one very rusted daguerreotype (!).
We have the three bedrooms cleaned and scrubbed. Bedroom #3 is an Hello Kitty-themed mantrap for Caira, along with a humanel-designed restraining cag…crib for Garrett. Bedroom #1, mine, looks and feels as queer as a three euro note without the detritus of my humdrum existence squelching, crinkling or crunching underfoot.
I am incredibly apprehensive about Mariah, Caira and Garrett moving here, although if you asked this me to my face I’d give you a smarmy response. Mariah and I separated on the absolute worst of terms and yes, there have been even darker moments since. Garrett was the source of my leaving, and poor Caira has blamed herself for daddy leaving.
It’s going to be an interesting six months, for sure. I predict that Caira and Mariah will adore Ireland, Garrett will pick up a brogue and there will be at least one raging, screaming fight…in the fight month.
Place your wagers, ladies and gentlemen.