The Fixer Upper

I realize that at this point I have emphasized the privileges of being a Stewarts enough. And for the past few years, you’ve seen me live in a place that’s just a step under a mansion. So you might be surprised to learn that the flat Hugo and I move into… is not exactly peak luxury.

It’s a dump. I mean a fixer-upper, it’s a fixer-upper.

I’m tired of gaining what I have and being who I am through my ancestors and the centuries they spent working to become memorable. I want something that’s mine, and I want to earn it for myself.

Actually, scratch that. Hugo and I want something that’s ours, and to earn it for ourselves.

So we’re happy, as we move into this flat. It’s got a small terrace, a beautiful view on the Spice Market, and even though it is a fixer-upper, it’s already our own.

Hugo hard at work trying to build furniture, while I move boxes of stuff and put said stuff away.

The caffeinated soda can on the floor was not his first. We’re both supposed to be geniuses, but Simkea is not our forte.

Our kitchen! The counters are rundown, the plates old and cracked, and the fridge is still empty, but you know, it’s good enough for pancakes, so it’s good enough for me.

Our bedroom is one uncomfortable bed, a few boxes, and holes on the wall. Oh, and the notes for my and Hugo’s big project. When we stop cleaning the flat, late at night, this is what we talk about before collapsing on the mattress.

Really, the bathroom is the real problem in this flat. Look at all that water damage.

At least we have an inside clothesline?… And a bathtub. Yes. Having a bathtub is good.

The laundry room, with its exposed pipes and ruined wallpaper…

The dining area, living room, and door to the terrace. All very empty for now…

It’s not much, but it is ours. I snap a pic at Hugo, who’s happy and proud, and doesn’t notice the GIGANTIC spider crawling on the wall.

I had to kill it for him.