France is certainly not a fan of second hand stores, Salvation Armys, and Good Wills, let me tell you. One of my greatest concerns about getting an apartment here is how the heck I’m gonna furnish the dang thing. I once thought, in those blissful days of ignorance some weeks ago, my biggest problem was fighting spiral staircases and narrow French streets sans a vehicle. Now I know that I face a greater terror. B has never heard of a second hand store. (I throw a minor fit in public)
“What do you do with your stuff when you don’t want it anymore?!”
“We iz throwing it away!”
“What do you do when you want to furnish a new apartment?!”
“We iz going to zee Ikea!”
I protest that this can’t be true. I explain in every French word I know how life can not exist without thrift stores; especially for college kids moving in and out of apartments. B merely shrugs and apologises.
“But buying new furniture is only for rich people! And not environmentally irresponsible!” I try. In English I shout that “I’m going to commit suicide all over the place.” B can’t understand and is by now accustomed to my drama, so he lights a cigarette.
In other news, B is more and more reluctant to let me move out. I'm surprised by this, especially since I’m refusing him physical intimacy, but he really wants me to stay here with him. I understand that he's prone to depression and living alone sucks for all normal people- and each night I dance for him and every day I tug him out the door for walks to make sure he gets sunshine and activity. Who wouldn't want me around? I’m a cozy personable person. But well, while he insisted that I stay with him, we were on a bus and he had just finished a cig. His breath was soooooooo painful. There was frankly no way I could hold a conversation with him and an apartment on the other side of town was looking pretty good.
