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I live in the linen closet
November 14, 2006
Before moving into our five-bedroom house this summer, I called my best friend who had arrived early to fill me in on the size of my room.
“Um, well, it’s small.”
I had planned on living elsewhere before the school year had started, but the plans had fallen through, and so as a last resort, I became the sixth girl in my current house.
The house itself is beautiful. The kitchen is huge. The living room is huge. There are two flights of stairs. Two!
When I first went to the upstairs portion of the house, I checked out my best friend’s room first. It was probably about as large as the entire first floor of my house at home. She had a coffee table, for crying out loud.
My room, however, not so spacious. I quickly learned that there would be room for my bed, and my tiny Ikea desk. And that’s it. No TV. No dresser. I have to actually stand on my bed in order to reach my closet, which had to be blocked off to compensate for my twin-size bed.
Sometimes I pretend I’m the main character of The Devil Wears Prada when she moves into her first place in New York. With lower rent.
One of the more distinct characteristics of the room was three protruding pipes which plunged from the wall. They currently hold my scarves and makeup bag. I wasn’t sure what they were doing there, but I assumed that my room had been renovated from an old bathroom.
I came to learn recently that I’m actually living in the laundry room. That explains it.
Day 2. Obsessed with thumbprints.
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