Yesterday I sent this (slightly clingy) text to Abigail:
"I have dreams of such domestic bliss for when you get here. Like I wake up early and make pancakes that we eat at the coffee table while reading. Or I come home to a house full of music and the smell of milky way muffins and you in an apron. Clearly it's been a long time since I had a roommate I liked and I've forgotten what it's actually like, haha."
And she responded with:
"The picture you paint sounds like bliss. Add a high paying job for me, and I'd never want to leave. :) Do you have mice in San Francisco? I found a dead mouse in one of our traps. It was slightly scarring. Building the courage to pick it up and take it to the trash was challenging and involved hysterical laughter, many apologies to the dead mouse, many exclamations about just how dead it was, a plastic bag, and a shish-kabob skewer. It was an ordeal. You'll take care of the mice, I hope."
I laughed out loud in the dressing room. I'm so excited for this.
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