It’s pretty safe to say that I rushed home tonight.

Not because I had the phone number of a hot girl I met Friday night and I wanted to call, though that is true.
Not because I was excited about going out with a hot girl (space space) friend of mine who is newly single tomorrow night, though that is true, too.
And not because I was looking forward to calling the miniature golf girl, though that is true, as well.

No, I rushed home tonight because I wanted more than anything to do exactly what I did do, which is calmly walk into my empty living room, turn left and walk (calmly) into my empty kitchen, turn on the light with a zen sense of calm, and then slowly (and without panic) turn the burner on the stove to “light”.

*clickclickclickclick WOOSH!*

It is true.
After one week without it, my gas has finally been turned back on.

And when that comforting blue flame shot from the stove, I screamed like a little girl and bounded gleefully into my barren living room, and slapped the thermostat all the way from off to 100. It’s uncomfortably warm in here now, but I don’t fucking care, I have heat! I continued my sprint into the bathroom, and turned on the hot water tap… not to do anything or wash anything, but just to see the steam. The glorious steam.

Tomorrow, I’m taking the hottest, longest shower ever taken. I will wash things I always said I’d never wash again (like the cheek that Jenny McDonald kissed in 7th grade). I will wash where the sun shines only dimly on warm days. I will scrub until my soul is clean. And I will sing showtunes. In vibrato. With feeling.

Whoever said, “it’s the simple things” was a fucking genius.

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