I saw an acoustic singer perform the other night at a small venue. When I went up to look at the merch table, I stood there eyeing the album cover.

I made some bad joke about dirty dishes making me feel tired, but clean dishes make me feel accomplished.

Gosh, that sink looks familiar. Those green cabinets. Wait. I said, “This looks just like an apartment I used to live in.”

He said, “It’s near Poor Slob College Kid St & Trying to be a Grown-up Ave.”

“Yes!” I said, “2345 Slob St!”

“Yes,” he said, “I lived there!”

Friends of mine, young gay boys, lived there in the late 1990’s (that makes me feel incredibly old to type that.) I spent a lot of time at their house, and have many pictures of painting M.artha St.ewart sage green cabinets, and “it’s not burgundy, it’s Japanese Mulberry” walls. I painted those cabinets with good friends of mine. I drank wine, and spent the night, and played with their dog, and first said, “I think I might be gay.”

Then, they moved out, and it was my favorite and my first place together. We had been friends forever and were going to be roommates. It was a two-bedroom place. That second room was never used. (What college kid has a “M.artha Japanese Mulberry guest bedroom?”)

And, now this singer lived there 5 years ago.We talked about the place, the neighborhood, the slumlandlord.

Trippy. Small world.


About EratMama

30 something midwestern gal, married to another 30 something midwestern gal, conquering depression, rockin' foster parent.
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