Dear House,
You don’t know me yet, but I’ve thought about you a lot. I’ve thought about the parties I would have inside you and how you’d make me cool. I know exactly where you are. Though sometimes I imagine you being in a different place, like New York. I can’t wait until we meet. It will be so grand. The first night I will stay up late because I will be too excited to sleep. I’ll eat hommus, sip chai tea and read imported magazines. You’ll be there for me, and keep the temperature just right. I’ll wake up in the morning confused and walk into your cupboard. It’ll be the one where the bathroom used to be in my old room. Don’t take it personally – they say it takes 28 days to break a habit. We’ll get over that little hurdle and then you’ll show me around the neighbourhood. You’ll introduce me to the 32 year old guy next door who lives in his mums basement and trains dogs for TV commercials (following his late Father’s trade – who was third in charge of Skippy the bush kangaroo). Then you’ll show me all the really great bars and thrift shops just near you. I’ll buy an old bike and ride it to a café I once read about in ThreeThousand. Someone I used to go to uni with will walk past and see me. They’ll ask me what I’m doing there and I’ll drop your name. They’ll tell me a long-winded story about how they’ve just moved back in with their parents in Lilydale. It’ll make me feel good about my new relationship with you. They’ll ask me about the coffee I’m drinking. I’ll tell them it’s probably the best coffee I’ve ever had and the look on their face will tell me it’s better than any coffee in Lilydale. They’ll leave, eventually. You’ll whistle loudly and tell me to come home. The other people that live inside you will be making pizza with fresh basil from your garden and prosciutto from your good friend Bruno the local butcher. One of them will have lived in Italy and will be making the base from scratch, in a little glass bowl. I’ll ride home quickly and nearly fall off my bike because I hit an unusually large gumnut. I’ll push through your smiley gate and lean my bike up against your strong exterior. The smell of basil and prosciutto ham will pick me up and I’ll drift effortlessly down your long corridor. As I float towards the kitchen I’ll hear my new friends having a really intelligent conversation about MadMen and I’ll smile to myself… And think I’m home. Finally.
To Make This Story Come True:
Please send all vacancies in your house to
tim at timpashen dot com
