It Could Be Worse

I'm in the midst of moving out of the apartment I've lived in the longest in NYC and I think, because it's been two years, and because my last move was relatively simple, that I'd completely forgotten what a hassle the whole moving process in the City is.  From brokers' fees to rental applications, cashiers' checks to the Bed Bug Rider, selling stuff on Craigslist to contemplating a midnight move (apparently some people actually do that in order to move out on the last day of the month and then in on the first) everything surrounding this move has been such a pain.  Why this has come as such a shock to someone who has lived in NYC for seven years and moved six times, I'm not sure.  I just have to keep reminding myself that it could be worse.  It could be worse because two and a half years ago my roommate hit me on a Thursday night and I moved out over the weekend.  It could be worse because two and a half years ago I had to break my lease to get away from that lunatic.  It could be worse because two and a half years ago I risked being sued by my landlord.  Today my biggest worry is whether I'll be able to pilfer the Fresh Direct boxes from the recycling before my neighbors.  Today I do not need friends to help me move because I'm afraid of being alone with my crazy roommate.  Today I am mostly wishing my air-conditioner were more powerful, because really, it's 97 degrees outside.

So, back to two and a half years ago when Annoying Yvette became Crazy Yvette.  Way back when we finally signed the lease, after all of her shenanigans, Yvette had mentioned wanting a dog.  She had also said she was planning on getting one for Christmas.  While I occasionally missed Kerri's dog Elton, I hadn't really given this conversation much thought.  For the first six weeks or so we'd lived together I mostly attributed her weirdness to the normal growing pains any roommates go through as they get used to each other.  Given that I was planning on moving in December, I wasn't really entirely invested in the roommate relationship.  I wanted to have a pleasant place to live where I was comfortable, but as far as a new best friend -- that wasn't my modus operandi.  Also, I'd been really busy.  September is a pretty crazy time for a teacher.  I really was just trying to make it through each day in tact.

Imagine my surprise when, one Saturday evening I missed a call from Yvette and got the following message:  "Hi Margaret.  It's Yvette.  I'm just calling to let you know that I just adopted a dog.  I'll be bringing him home tonight.  He's a cutie."  Um, OK.  I was sort of stunned.  I mean, I liked living with a dog, and I love dogs but coming out of left field like this, four months after a theoretical conversation about it was just . . .  off-putting.  She did a lot of things like that that weren't exactly wrong . . . but not exactly right either.

I felt a little stuck.  If she'd asked me in the morning, or called and said she was calling to ask me about getting the dog, I would have said yes.  This whole being treated like an afterthought just made me feel uneasy.  She wasn't the most responsible roommate anyway, and I would have definitely brought up the clear delineation of doggie-duties (ie -- not my dog, not my responsibility) had she bothered to ask.  So I was kind of pissed, but the outcome wouldn't have been any different -- she still would have gotten a dog and I still would be moving in a few months -- so I decided not to say anything.  And plus, the dog was pretty damn cute.  She named him Lucky, which is among the stupidest dog names I've ever heard, and didn't turn out to be very lucky for either one of us.