Happy Father's Day, friends!
Originally, when I found my house online, I was promised an air-conditioning unit would be in my room. I arrive to find a crappy ceiling fan that only has a 'low' setting. I didn't want to be a dick and start pointing fingers and making accusations my first week in town. So I waited until week two. I cornered my roomate (Paul) while he was sipping some iced tea and demanded to know why he lured me in with the promise of crisp icy air only to dump me in a room that's quite easily the same temperature as molten lava. He just laughed it off, saying that the room with air-conditioning was given to the third roomate before I arrived. To the Old Man. His name is Doug, but I prefer to refer to him as 'The Old Man'. Most nights I lay awake in a pool of warm sweat wondering if the Old Man would mind if we shared his bed for the night. I wouldn't even mind some harmless cuddling, as long as I could see our breath in the air every time we exhaled.
Today we had a visitor at our home. My bedroom window faces the front door, so I can see anyone approaching the house long before they see me. The mystery man came to the door holding two leashes, each attached to a Whippet. For those of you who don't know what a Whippet is; it's the only member of the canine family that bears a striking resemblance to Michael Jackson. They're quite possibly the most hideous, vomit-inducing animal that God has ever created.
Paul answered the door and the moment the man began speaking, my jaw dropped. He had this warbly, high pitched, feminine, goof-ball voice. It was as if Tiny Tim and Truman Capote had a bastard child. At first I thought he was one of those singing telegrams, hired to do quirky impressions. That was, until Paul invited him in. They were friends! I tried to stifle back laughter as I quickly ran over to shut my bedroom door. I didn't want to be involved in any of their shenanigans.
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