cimorene

So there appears to be some possibility of us moving. Yikes. I mean, I want to have a bigger place; I don't want to pack.

Anyway, the realtor was pleasant, but she didn't know something and asked her boss a question. He was a typical self-important small-dicked asshat and proceeded to mansplain for about ½ an hour in spite of Wax's friend Sofia several times making it clear (not that gently either) that his explanations were superfluous and ill-aimed. Then we went the wrong way to the insurance company Sofia had to consult and meanwhile, I hadn't even had any breakfast. We didn't get home till after noon, at which point I'd been up and trudging around with only a single cup of café au lait in me for two hours. Yuck.

The place in question is a few blocks away (Tureborgsgatan, just the other side of Aningaisgatan, across the street from that Angel restaurant and round the corner from Ban Thai's old location, but tragically on the 5th floor and equipped with standard miniature Finnish elevator).

We also got to explain that we are married several times and I was an advocate for putting on the form Reason for moving: bookshelf space.