In which I crush the dreams of my 17-year-old self…


Another long and self-indulgent conversation with my imaginary 17-year-old self:

17-year-old Me: I have some more non-fast-food questions for you.  Do you have a cool job?

Me: Yes.

17-year-old Me:  Well?

Me: What?

17-year-old Me: What is it, then?  Actress?  Romance novelist?  College professor?

Me: Nope.

17-year-old Me:  Well, what is it then?

Me: Elementary school librarian.

17-year-old Me: Excuse me?

Me: I am an elementary school librarian and technology teacher.  I have primarily Kindergarten and 1st grade students in library, and I teach 2nd through 5th graders how to use computers.

17-year-old Me: That sounds….awful.  Seriously…just…awful.  ELEMENTARY SCHOOL?  Didn’t you go to COLLEGE?!?!?

Me: Excuse me, I went to an Ivy League college and I have a Master’s Degree.

17-year-old Me:  You need a Master’s Degree to follow around snotty-nosed five-year-olds and read picture books?

Me: Yes, yes, you do.  And anyway, you LIKE kids, you know.

17-year-old Me: Very doubtful.  I don’t like kids at all.  In fact I have been frequent and vocal about just how much I do NOT like kids.

Me [taunting]: Yeah.  Well, Kindergartners are your favorite.  Children are the part of your job you enjoy the most. You genuinely LOVE kids!

17-year-old Me [skeptical]: Do I?

Me: Yes, you do.  You…I…we are very happy with our career choice, okay?  Very happy, very good at it, very pleased with the summers off.

17-year-old Me: Summers off sounds okay, I guess.

Me: That’s very generous of you.

17-year-old Me:  Well, at least you must live somewhere cool, right?

Me: Yup.

17-year-old Me: So tell me more….

Me: Well, you live in a cool city.

17-year-old Me: Awesome!  That sounds more like what I had in mind!  Where?

Me: Pardon me?

17-year-old Me: Where do you live?

Me [mumbling]: prvdns

17-year-old Me: Sorry, didn’t catch that.

Me: What?

17-year-old Me: Where do you live?!?

Me: Providence.

17-year-old Me:  Tell me there is a Providence, France.

Me [shakes head]

17-year-old Me:  Providence, Australia?  Providence, England?  Providence, California?

Me: Providence, Rhode Island.

17-year-old Me: You have got to be SHITTING ME!

Me: Calm down – you LIKE IT HERE you know!

17-year-old Me [skeptical]: Do I?

Me: You do. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s not like I live in Johnston or anything!  You’d never forgive me for that, I know.  But Providence – well, Providence is hip and lovely and has a vibrant art and food and stuff scene and really good coffee shops and I like it here!

17-year-old Me:  At least tell me you left for awhile.

Me: I did!  I lived in Miami for a year!

17-year-old Me: Miami sounds cool.  Totally cool.  What happened to that?

Me: Blech – Miami was stupid.  Much less cool than Providence.

17-year-old Me: But doesn’t Miami have beautiful beaches?

Me: Yes.

17-year-old Me: Gorgeous weather.

Me: Sure.

17-year-old Me:  Interesting tourist attractions?  Delicious food?  An all around more famous and exciting reputation as a city?

Me: You are really focusing on the wrong stuff, missy.  I like it here.

17-year-old Me: I don’t believe you.  About the job either.

Me: I am happy.  Why just tonight I ate a burrito in my new apartment and watched a movie starring an actor you have never heard of but will love very much in ten years time and it was a very nice night.

17-year-old Me: Do I even like burritos?  I don’t think I’ve ever had one.

Me: You love burritos, so much more than anything else ever.  You love the melted cheese, the delicate interplay between the heat of the salsa and the coolness of the sour cream, the softness of the wrap contrasted against the crisp tortilla chips…

17-year-old Me: Well, at last something you are saying finally sounds believable. So….we have a new apartment?  Is it nice?

Me: Quite.  Do you know what I have?

17-year-old Me:  What’s that?

Me: Claw foot tub.

17-year-old Me:  Seriously?

Me: Yes.

17-year-old Me:  You should have lead with that!  I might not have gotten so bent out of shape about how you failed to achieve every dream I ever had and settled for a life so dull I cannot even comprehend how you got from here to there.

Me: I told you, I am happy.  Claw foot tub!!!

17-year-old Me:  Okay, happiness is one of my goals.  You really love kids?

Me: I really love kids.

17-year-old Me: And PROVIDENCE?

Me: And Providence.

17-year-old Me:  Fine.  I guess it’s okay…I believe you that it’s good.  Now tell me…are you still single?

Me: What?

aaaaand scene.



The Pinnacle of Sophisticated and Glamourous Adult Living


Going on five days in the new apartment and something really HUGE has finally just sunk in:

I have a claw foot tub, guys.

I do!  I have dreamed of having a claw foot tub since I was a small child, no doubt inspired by some movie or television program or book or who knows what because I sure cannot remember.  Regardless of the origin of this dream, claw foot tubs have symbolized the pinnacle of sophisticated and glamourous adult living to me for as long as I can remember.

I must (FINALLY!) be a sophisticated and glamourous adult, is what this means.

Whenever I doubt myself from now on – maybe I start thinking I’m not leading a very exciting life or I am not as cool as I would have liked to be as an adult or I feel like I am only pretending to be an adult and am actually still 17 on the inside or whatever else comes up – I am just going to refer myself to the claw foot tub as evidence to the contrary.

Why don’t you have a more active social life for a twenty-something, Niki?

Umm…check out the claw foot tub, Niki.  You’re doing just fine.

Why do all your clothes come from The Gap or Loft?  You could stand to be a little edgier, Niki.

Hey, Niki- shut it.  You have a claw foot tub.

Niki, are you aware that you were just listening to Call Me Maybe on repeat?

Claw.  Foot.  Tub.

Yeah, this claw foot tub is a big effing deal in my life, showering logistics not withstanding.  I mean seriously – anyone out there tried showering in a claw foot tub lately?

My main issue is puddling vs. intrusive shower curtain.

See, in order to prevent puddles, one needs TWO shower curtain liners, one on either side of the tub because, hello, claw foot tubs aren’t attached to the wall is what makes them so freaking sophisticated and glamourous in the first place.

So if you tuck the shower curtain between the wall and the tub, it does very little to prevent the flood-like puddle situation – may has well not even have a curtain.  But two shower curtains on the inside of the tub sure do encroach on your personal space; having shower curtains touching you on both sides during a shower feels neither sophisticated nor glamourous, I tell you what.

I’m working on solutions, but any advice is welcome.

I have so many other things I want to talk about vis-a-vis my new apartment, however it feels right to devote this whole post to nothing but the glory of the claw foot*.  Good thing there are fully two days left in New Apartment Week, eh??

*I wanted to post some sweet pictures of my tub, but I forgot to take any and I still don’t have internet so I write this to you from a coffee shop.  I’ll post this picture of a significantly more elegant claw footer that I found on Google images instead.

Not my tub!