2C

The first of the month was one of the happiest days of my short life. That was the day I got the keys to my new apartment. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s mine, all mine. No more parents, no more siblings to annoy me, I can come and go as I please, eat whatever I want whenever I want, my God, I can even run around naked all day if I want to without offending anybody (Mom!).

My apartment is located at the end of the hallway on the second floor of a modern, cement-slabbed, nondescript building in the middle of a complex where all the buildings look alike. I have one neighbor who lives across the hall from me, and two more at the other end.

I don’t own much, just a few hand-me-downs from family, otherwise known as junk that nobody wanted, but they are mine: one couch that a cat has annihilated the arms on, a small kitchen table encrusted with very colorful stains that are almost artistic looking, and an assortment of cookware that will suffice until I break down and buy a set of my own.

The one big purchase that I made in anticipation of my move was my bed. I splurged and bought myself a California King that barely fits in the bedroom. There is just enough room to walk around the foot end of it and down one side. But that’s all right because it’s just me, and I am done trying to have sex on a twin-size mattress. I want room to play. Now, all I need is a boyfriend.

To be honest, I am currently dating someone. His name is Ted, short for Theodore. However, it was clear from day one that he is not Mr. Right. He is full of himself, thinks he’s the greatest at everything he does, and is never, ever wrong. What do I see in him, you ask? Well, he’s cute, he’s strong, he makes good money, and he fucks good. He’ll do until something better comes along.