The people who bought the house in which I’m currently living are
seeing the place with their own eyes for the very first time. I spent
all of last night doing clean-up, straightening out, installing the new
shower curtain I’d been meaning to get, and so on.
(Hey, housemate, where’d you disappear off to? A little help would’ve been appreciated. You get to clean the oven next time.)
The outside of the house is a flurry of window-washers at the moment;
and the blinds-cleaners are arriving soon. Thankfully, I’m not paying
for their services — my present-and-soon-to-be-former landlord is.
Being the guy whose name is on the lease, I’m sticking around the house
during the “window” when the new landlords are expected to visit and
inspect their new property. I’m also going to nag them about replacing my toilet from the 1920s.
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Again, I say, woohoo, new toilet! prematurely.
Oh, yeah, you're in Canada where you can still buy a working toilet. Here in the lower 48, we're stuck with the plunger-a-day models. What I wouldn't give for a 1929 toilet!