Today when I came home, the hallway was full of boxes. Not the kind you carry around with you, or the kind you use for moving, but really large boxes. Our fridge, freezer, and new oven have arrived and have yet to be unpacked.

These new appliances stand in our hallway, blocking the way, because a few months ago dad decided that we must get new stuff. Dad reckons our existing appliances are too old. They’re only about ten years. But since it’s his house, it’s his rules when it comes to that sort of thing.

He gave us the money for them earlier, and Mark drove off for an afternoon and made the necessary purchases. If Dad thinks he needs to replace all that to keep the value of the house up, then who are we to complain? It’s not like any of it is ours, although it does make both of us feel like this house is a little less ours.

This weekend will be marked by moving our old appliances out into the garage. It will also be marked by making room for the old appliances in the garage. Then we will install the new things in their places.

Mark, ever the engineer, already has that look of quiet satisfaction in his face. He will get the chance to tinker with the house. I swear, when he’s forty and balding, I’ll find him with a tool chest and one of those net under-shirts, working on the boiler.

But maybe I, for once, can reclaim the Toyota because I want to go to a shop I know and get a new mixer so that I can get back to making covers. I tried to make one the other day, but my old mixer has shorted and needs to be replaced. If Mark is let loose on installing the appliances – he’ll ask me to keep well away anyway – then I can sneak away and do that.

Such is the life of two twenty-year-old homosexuals these days. No partying, no wild adventures, no youthful transgressions. No, we’re helping dad keep up with the Joneses by proxy.

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