Okay, how disgusting is
it to ask your neighbor, “Do you have a plunger?” What a thing to have to
borrow from someone. I suppose I took pity on the poor guy because I tend
to think that perhaps I am one of the few apartment-dwellers who is anal
(no pun intended) enough to buy a plunger before I actually need one.
But, I have to say, I sat
here and pondered what I would do when he brought it back! And, I have to admit
that I did not finish the dinner I was eating because of my ponderings. I doubt
that anyone as unversed in etiquette as he must be to borrow a plunger in the
first place would have the decency to bleach the thing before returning it. I
don’t mean to sound snobby, but I’m not really thrilled with the idea of
bleaching the thing after he used it. Perhaps I should just throw it out—or give
it to him. Who knows, I may throw out this one and then buy a brand new one that
he will want to borrow at some point in the future! God forbid!
Is this one of the many
subtle differences between living in a house and an apartment? When I lived in
my house with my husband, my neighbors were older folks, from generations made
up of people who knew what the word etiquette meant. My neighbors brought
dinners and bakery goods over; they brought back our dogs when they got outside
the fence. Now, as a divorced, single woman, living in an apartment, is this all
I can expect? Neighbors asking to borrow my plunger? I might have reconsidered
my divorce had I known. I might have dwelled in misery in the land of bullshit,
but at least I’d have my very own plunger—and I’d need it.
