Miffed Again

I guess I should explain the reason I needed to move. It was simply that I couldn't afford to live in that house and pay the exorbitant utility expenses that came with the place. It was an all-electric home (so that meant the damn light bill was out of sight) and with both front and back yards being huge, my water bill was so high that I dreaded its arrival each month.

When I moved into that house, it was because another woman moved in there with me. You see, we're both lesbians, and among other things, we also shared expenses. It wasn't that we considered ourselves to be "in love" or anything like that, but we were good friends; both retired; near the same age, enjoyed our wine, and loved to laugh. When Gail had to return to Ohio to move in with an older sister who needed physical care, that left me with all the monthly expenses, and the fact that she also left all of her possessions except her clothing didn't help a bit.

Here's the part of my wish that makes me apprehensive: another woman applied for residence in Senior Housing on the same day that I did, and there was only one empty available apartment. Either of us could choose to wait, but if our moving was urgent, we'd have to share the apartment.

Each resident should know that the Senior Housing Authority does not show favoritism.

I guess that's a good policy, but although I like women, I'm a little uneasy about making arrangements to live with someone I don't know. The office lady trying to work this out said she'd recommend a face-to-face meeting at a neutral spot. The woman I'd be meeting was Bernice Abbot and the meeting would be at a downtown coffee shop this next Friday at 9:30 AM.

I got to the coffee shop first and was sitting on the side of the booth that allowed me to face the door when I saw this fat, flustered-looking old lady come in and look around. It looked to me like she had dressed up for the occasion, as she was wearing a simple short-sleeved dark blue dress, which allowed the delicate chain around her neck and the cross that it supported to stand out vividly. She was wearing nylons and nice shoes and was even wearing a certain amount of makeup. I, on the other hand, had on my favorite pair of cargo pants, a long-sleeved shirt and tennies. Of course, I wasn't wearing makeup. I'm retired.

When she spotted my white hair, she walked over to my booth and just stood there, saying nothing. I said, "You must be Bernice."

She replied, "Bunny."

I said, "Pardon me?"

She said, "That's my name, but everyone calls me Bunny."

"Oh well, please sit down so we can start getting to know each other. I'm Wilma Johnson, as I'm sure you were told. Could you tell me a little something about yourself?"

Just then, the waitress appeared at the table to take our orders. Of course I ordered coffee, but my companion ordered tea. I consider tea to be an afternoon drink, but to each his own, I guess. Bernice slid into the booth and gave a great sigh as though the effort of getting here had worn her out but not too much to begin talking.

"I got my daughter to drop me here; I live with them, you know. No, I guess you don't know, but I've been in their house for two years now ever since my poor Willard passed away. So I guess you can see that I'm a widow, and I don't have a lot of money. Are you a widow too?"

"No, I've never been married. Why is it you want to move?"

"Well, I live with my daughter and her husband in a three-bedroom house. That's one for my daughter and her husband, one for me, and the children share the third one. The trouble is that one's a boy and one's a girl, and they're getting big enough that they shouldn't share a bedroom any longer. No one has asked me to leave, but I can tell it would be better for them if I did.

"My husband worked in that stationary and office supply store that was here for so many years. Then Wal-Mart came here and it got the lion's share of that kind of business because of cheaper prices, so the place where my husband worked finally went bankrupt and there went Willard's pension. I get $814 a month from S.S., but that's all I have, except that I've been able to save a small amount by living with my daughter. What about you?"

"Let's see�I'm currently living in a nice two-bedroom home which rents for more than I can afford. I had a roommate who shared expenses with me, and I was okay financially at that time, but she moved back to be around her family last fall, and I've been paying for everything ever since. I can't keep doing this, which is why I'm interested in the Senior Housing program."

"Well, do you smoke?" she asked.

"Yes, I do. Do you?"

"Heavens no. I've never smoked in my life, but I've had to live around Willard's smoking, and I can't go through that again."

"Hold on there. I don't smoke inside a house or building, and I don't smoke that much anyway. Two or three cigarettes a day hardly counts."

"Well, that's good but your clothes will still smell like cigarettes."

"Is that so? Here, smell my shirt sleeve."

She sniffed my shirt in several places and finally said, "No, I really don't smell anything. What about drinking?"

"Yes," I told her, "I have a glass of wine every evening. I might be tempted to drink more, but I can't afford it."

"Maybe that will change when your money's not so tight."

"Oh for crying out loud, I'm not a lush, and my having a glass of wine wouldn't hurt you in the least. Perhaps we should call this off and look for other partners."

"Perhaps we should."

As I stood up to leave, she said, "Good luck, I hope you find someone who won't object to your habits"

And I returned, "I hope you find someone who lives up to your standards."

So that was that.