“It’s probably nothing, but…” Dr. Lee said.
The first time it happened was when my mouse ran across the perfect apartment for my next coming-of-age move. You know, the kind of Craigslist ad that uses impeccable grammar so you’re sure that an actual human lives behind the screen, not a send-me-money-now scammer hoping for a wire transfer. (I’m pretty sure transactions like these died with the corded home phone).
I still worked in my first job out of college and still cared about loving my office with a door that closed and the way that my business cards puffed up to invite a client to dance the waltz. My new friend slash co-worker came along with me to scope out the Craigslist woman to make sure she wasn’t the next Craigslist killer. Turns out she wasn’t. Her purring cat, Domino, weaved between our legs, his evidence lingering on my black pants after we snuck out for lunch.
“I would love to have you as a roommate!” her email read. I’d spent the afternoon refreshing my inbox every :36 seconds with hopes that she liked me as much as her cat did.
My own bathroom, a spacious closet, and less than a mile from my frou-frou editor job. How could I say no?