Fond, and not so fond, memories

This morning as I was stretching into being awake, with the cat purring loudly in my ear (she does that cause, since she's just PURRING, there's no way I can be mad, right?) I for some reason thought of this apartment complex I lived in when I first met my husband.

My mom & I lived in one apartment, and my sister and her two young kids in another. The landlord, who we all thought was cool at first cause he bought new air conditioners (a big deal in Florida) and seemed nice, was an amazing psycho who (among other things) used to barge in to the apartment without knocking. This was awkward in that once when he did it I was totally naked (well, except for a luckily placed towel) just about to get into the shower but having forgotten something in my bedroom (which was where he barged into-- it was sort of supposed to be a living room, hence, had a front door, but had been converted to my bedroom). Back in those days, for a reason that seems inexplicable to me now, we didn't usually lock the doors (it probably had something to do with the kids running in and out of the two apartments).

This landlord took a real dislike to my sister (who can, I'll admit, be hard to like sometimes). He was really a jerk, though.

Anyway, the fond memories are of the time I met my hubby-to-be. Neither of us knew it then, of course. For our first date, he met me* at the apartment. I was cleverly perched on a comfy chair doing EMBROIDERY (yes to all you Laura Ingalls Wilder fans-- to make him know what a great little catch I would be)..... he had wandered to the wrong apartment and knocked on the door of one of the front ones, and found one of our neighbors, a big guy, in a swanky silky nightie. I imagine this guy looked a bit like the crazy guy in Silence of the Lambs.

But my poor hubby to be found me anyway, despite scary front-apartment guy not knowing which apartment I was in.

And the embroidery is in the guest bedroom. It's cats. And officially the LAST embroidery project I have done in more than ten years. Mwah hah haha. My evil plan to snag a man with my wifely arts worked!**


*He "MET" me at a bar. There was dancing and a number on a bar napkin. This discussion, dear readers, is of the FIRST DATE. Not the bar meeting.

**I am, of course, a fabulous cook, still. But I'm not very good at some other things. Like organizing. Which I must go and do NOW.