I thought that would get your attention. Ordinarily, in writing a sentence like that it would be a safe to assume that I was either employing some level of poetic license, or else just dreaming up obscure metaphors. But, I kid you not, there is a shower in my kitchen.
Whoever designed my apartment had either never lived indoors, and as such had no idea that you do not put showers in kitchens, or they just thought they would test out exactly how much oddness people are willing to accept in order to live in Manhattan. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s bloody brilliant. It cracks me up. I also find it hilarious that the microwave and the toaster categorically cannot be switched on at the same time, that in a living room barely big enough to do a passable pirouette there is a full-sized piano (obviously) and that the only sink in the place is the kitchen sink, meaning that if I don’t do the dishes every night everything gets covered in toothpaste, or you find yourself washing pasta sauce out of your hairbrush.
Equally entertaining is the fact that Ruby (who has only ever had baths) announced on the first night that she “does not like showers”. She really was very, very upset by the jet of water aimed squarely at the top of her head from what must seem to her an enormous height. Ruby really loves her baths, they’re a big part of her routine, and clearly from a hygiene point of view it is necessary for her to wash, so I had to be a little inventive. I hit up the local pound store (obviously not called a pound store over here) for a big plastic storage box, which now sits in the bottom of the shower and gets transformed every evening into a miniature bubble bath. Ruby thinks it is the funniest thing she has ever seen. She sits in there every night for three times as long as she would normally spend in the bath, and makes “coffee” for us, with two plastic cups and her foamy bath water. In her own words, “Bubbles don’t taste very nice.”
I have really fallen on my feet here. I went out with a friend last night and went for a bit of a wander around the few blocks surrounding my apartment. The area, which seemed nice enough in the day time, if not terribly exciting, had buzzed into life. Within two blocks we came across fifteen or twenty bars. We found one great bar where we each had two lychee mimosas and only paid $20 for the lot. Just around the corner we stopped at another place for a truly brilliant burger, served with sweet potato fries, and a pitcher of frozen margarita for $18, all served by the most flamboyant waiter I have ever come across, who could barely stand still long enough to take our order. As my friend succinctly put it, “I’ll have some of what he’s having.”
I love it here. I really, really love it. I love that I have inadvertently ended up in a really cool neighbourhood. I love that I have already met a whole bunch of amazing people. I love that I have a proper New York fire escape, and I love the shower in my kitchen.
Photo by Peter Ruprecht