The story of my room.
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Transcript of The story of my room.
biggieif my room had a name, it would be
smalls.
i’m not exactly sure how normal people find apartments in new york city,but i found mine via email
i looked at the pictures
talked to the roommates
and after a careful consideration period
of 5 whole minutes
i said, “i’ll take it.”
i was happy. i had a room i could call my own in an apartment in new york city.
so i packed my bags
waved goodbye to my family
and hopped on a bus
(because everyone was too afraid to drive me into the city of crazy cab drivers)
when i arrived at my building
my new roommate helped me carry my bags
up
six
flights
of
stairs
six.
after she opened the door to our apartment,i realized my lofted room had its own set of stairs
seven.
(to calm my wheezing, i tried to imagine my future toned thighs)
after making it to the top of everest, i collapsed on my new bed
my new big, comfy bed
upon regaining the strength to move, i propped myself up to survey my surroundings
my room was adorable, it had:two big skylights
plenty of floor space
dresser
desk
comfy reading chair
and a door leading out to a large roof deck
but when i got up off my bed, i noticed something funny
i couldn’t stand up.
my room, despite its adorableness had a five foot ceiling
i am 5’5”
inches
separate my adorable room
from
perfection
but my room was so cute
that i couldn’t end our relationship
because of one little flaw
so i slowly learned how to live small
at first i felt a lot like quasimodo.
but now i’m more like catherine zeta jones in entrapment
of course every now and again, my room decides to hit me upside the head
and i yell back hurtful things
(it’s never my fault, of course)
****
but all in all, biggie smalls and i are happy together
(imagine him smiling)