Many moons ago, before I met my husband, before I had my children, I had roommates. My friend K and I moved to here together. We lived in a duplex, found jobs, threw parties and had a lot of fun. Then one day a sign went up in the yard. The owner of the duplex was going to sell our home, right out from under us.
So we went on a hunt for a new place to live. Sure, there was a possibility the new owner would keep us around, and not raise the rent, and not creep us out, but there was also the possibility of the opposite.
We drove around the neighborhoods we wanted to rent in. We had only the highest of standards with the smallest of wallets.
We stumbled upon a house that was being worked on. We went right in and asked some questions. We tracked down the owner and made him an offer. Our offer was considerably less than what he was looking for. But we kept bugging him and we haggled and we charmed.
We realized a third would make things perfect, because upon closer inspection, this was a house with three bedrooms, an office, a den, a dining room and a living room, not to mention a pretty big kitchen. Coming from our four room duplex, this was huge.
Don’t be fooled into thinking it was a palace or anything. It needed work, it had some wood paneling, the air upstairs sucked (that’s another story), eventually there would be flooring issues. But we wanted it. Badly.
So we found our third, made our deal and walked into our “new” house.
I was given a set of magnets by one of my roommates that represented us. It was a three pack that included a red head, a blonde and a brunette. They were sexy. They were us. They were perfect.
Fast forward to the current day. I have become immune to the sex-kitten look of the ladies. They are just part of my refrigerator. Kind of like the handle, or the logo, or the butter dish.
The ladies reside on my refrigerator lo these many years later. A couple of us have needed the help of some hair product to retain the colors, and two of us need to add some stretch marks. But we were a force to be reckoned with and this little reminder helps me get through the day sometimes.
My son is rather fascinated with the ladies. He takes them off the fridge. He puts them back on the fridge. He rearranges them. He smiles at them.
My mom thinks I have introduced him to his first crushes. Some years down the road we may have a magnet issue under the mattress, instead of a magazine issue. But for now, I will go on assuming that he just likes the ladies because they look like girls who have the world at their fingertips.