|The new digs|
It turns out that moving as an adult (aka with furniture) takes a lot more energy (and money) than moving as the nomadic collegiate that I once was. Gone are the days of packing up college T-shirts and bedding into the trunk of my car; instead I'm now renting 16 ft budget trucks and finagling couches into them. (Seriously. I don't know how we got that thing downstairs.)
|The old closet...wonk wonk.|
And, for the first time in my adult life, I'm living in a house. No more cramped apartments for me. Though it is a bit disconcerting when the furniture that filled up your apartment barely begins to make a dent in your cavernous new home. I'm telling myself that this justifies going to antique stores. (Right?!?)
And our house isn't actually in the middle of nowhere, it's in a cute little coastal town where I can walk everywhere: the hardware store, the movie theater, the library, and the bar. What more does one need?
And just like any small-town novel, the assortment of quirky characters is becomes better by the day. There's Erienne, our thirteen year old neighbor-turned-tour guide, who marched us around town on our second day to show us the sights. Turns out? She knows everyone. Not only does she volunteer at the gift shop, she also holds bake sales, raises money for the local Humane Society, and makes beaded jewelry that everyone woman in town seems to own. If I'd been that cool at thirteen I'm pretty sure I'd be on my way to being President right now. Or at least famous.
Then there's Stella, the sassy 50 year old divorcee who, like me, moved here from Charlotte. She works at the local office supply store and within five minutes had informed us that all the single men in town were either seventeen or seventy, so not to get our hopes up.
Which seems to be the second thing that residents tell us, right after "Welcome to Edenton!". Our realtor told us "If you're looking for a husband, you moved to the wrong town." A nice old woman walking down the street asked if we were the new teachers in town, and then matter of factly told us there weren't any men for us.
I'm not quite sure how they expect us to respond. Should we throw ourselves on the ground like a three year old in a temper tantrum? Jump up and down while shouting "Hooray! Love isn't real anyway!"?
Perhaps this means I'll have to dive back into online dating.
So, I'll hope you'll forgive my month long sabbatical, but rest assured: I'm back. (Cue the theme song from Green Acres.)