Cold As Ice

It's cold here, at night, and I miss summer in Toronto.

Americans tend to think that all of Canada is colder than all of America. Except for my new friend and colleague, Scotty, who's from Wisconsin. He knows. Tracy understands, too. There are places in the United States that are farther north, and much colder, than places in Canada.

Last night was the first time I slept through the night, without waking up shivering.

I'd been sleeping on the Aerobed, which is quite comfy, but with bedding borrowed from Scotty. He showed up with a care package my first afternoon. It contained a pillow, sheets and pillowcases, a few dishes, some microwave popcorn, tea bags (I didn't have the heart to tell him I only drink tea when I have a cold), a small kettle, and some towels. And a very nice but quite thin quilt.

And because I'd been literally living out of a suitcase, I was limited in my options of clothing to wear to bed.

You see, I thought it would be hot here, like it is back home. So I'd only packed my summer sleepwear — Calvin Klein men's boxers, and t-shirts. Not my long flannel jammies. I didn't even have a pair of sweatpants.

I did, however, have a vacuum cleaner. My new friend and landlord, Monica, gave it to me not half an hour after I landed at my new apartment with only a suitcase and Pinky. I told her that we'd be camping out until the movers arrived with my things, but that even when they did, I wouldn't have many things, having left most of them behind in my condo, which I've rented out furnished. I had to leave my vacuum cleaner for the tenants.

"Oh, I've got a vacuum cleaner you can have," she exclaimed. "One of the tenants that moved out last month left it behind. I don't know how good it is, but you can have it if you want it."

"If it sucks, I'll take it," I replied. I have a cat; I vacuum a lot.

"Oh! And Tom Brady, in 614, has a couch he wants to sell. Do you want me to tell him to call you?"

"Sure," I replied. I liked Monica already. She's about my age, has black hair, and looks a little like Courtney Cox.

I finished signing the papers, then Jack and I unloaded the Pinky accoutrements and the Aerobed from Beauty. I walked him back to his car, because he had to head back to The City, and by the time I returned to my apartment there was a sticky note on my door, with Tom Brady's phone number.

I'll be getting Tom's couch in about two weeks, as soon as his new one is delivered. In the mean time, I'm fine sitting on my mother's orange chair, now that the movers have brought my things and I've made a clearing of boxes around it.

And though I'm sleeping on my futon on the floor until I get around to buying bedroom furniture, I have my sheep's wool mattress cover and my Oma's Federbett, and it can snow tonight, for all I care.

In the next story, Postmodern Sass is haunted by her dead mother. And later, she finds another way to warm up, when Jack takes her to the beach.