Grumpy
When you have an open house inspection at Midday on Saturday, it's probably a good idea to have the place buffed and polished and in sparkling condition the day before. It's probably a good idea to have a quiet night in. What's probably not the best idea is to go out clubbing on Friday night and invite everyone back to your place for an after party. That would be a ridiculous thing to do.
"It's okay to come back to ours and get messy," I tell everyone, "you just have to promise to do it neatly."
The Dreaded One didn't look so sure about this little plan, and I knew where she was coming from. We want to sell our home so we can travel, first stop Boom festival in Portugal. We have to be responsible about our dance festival travel plans, so you know, really, this after party back at ours was probably not my finest idea. But I liked to think it was all a bit rock 'n roll. The Dreaded One looked at me like she thought it was all a bit bloody stupid. Still, she didn't exactly say no. She just did that eyes-rolling-under-closed-lids-accompanied-by-shake-of-the-head thing she does so often.
I think the neighbours must be very happy with the For Sale sign for our cosy little apartment. I especially thought about this as the music thundered through my Musical Fidelity amp and out of my JM Lab floor speakers as the new day dawned. There was booze and crazy talk and dancing and some mystery guy sprawled on the couch for the duration... it was a lovely after party.
Still, it never quite left my mind that Warren the Real Estate Agent would be here at 11.45am to pick up the keys and show our home to prospective buyers. I looked around with growing concern, wondering how this was all going to pan out. Maybe, I started to think, this wasn't the best thing to do after all. Maybe we should have had the after party at someone else's place. Someone who wasn't having an open house inspection in a few short hours. Holy crap - what have we done? Also, we're almost out of booze!
Someone went for booze so that was one less thing to worry about. But what was the other thing? Oh yeah, the small matter of Warren.
"I'm not going to be here for Warren," The Dreaded One told me at a random point.
"What do you mean you're not going to be here for Warren? We're all going to be here for Warren."
"I'm not. Got a hair appointment. I told you. You're going to have to deal with Warren by yourself."
"But I can't deal with Warren by myself... we're all in this together... even Mystery Couch Guy... does anyone actually know who that guy is?
"Relax, Grumpy, we'll help you with Warren. In fact I really want to meet Warren."
That was good enough for me. The Dreaded One could go get her fluro dreads tended to, and I would take care of Warren all by myself... with my after party flotsam.
At 11.30 the buzzer screeched. The Dreaded One got the hell out of there. I picked up the handset. It was a normal person here to inspect the flat.
"You'll have to wait 15 minutes,"I told them. "Warren isn't here yet."
I hung up and looked at the others. What the hell do we do now? There are normal people banging on the door and Warren's not here and can some body please turn the music down please?
Fortunately, just in the nick of time, the buzzer went off again, and Warren had arrived. Thank fuck for that, I thought, and wondered if I said that out loud down the handset to Warren.
I passed Warren in the stairwell and tossed the keys to him, feeling very fucking rock 'n roll. The Dreaded One? She just thinks I'm very fucking naughty.
Grumpy is Lee Bemrose, a very naughty freelance writer. You can ask him to write normal stuff for you at twobluefish@bigpond.com
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