one hundred sixty-six

I am desperately trying to pay the deposit for our apartment. Western Union, my bank and Money Gram hate me. Hopefully, this will be fixed today when I will go to the store, like we used to do in the Olden Days.

I will drive myself to CVS and order a money gram. I will use a calculator, held in my hand and not on my laptop screen, to convert USD to EUR to GBP. I will subtract the cost of the transfer from our deposit.

That last bit is a Godsend. Currency exchanges hurt. Thanks for nothing, America. Thanks for everything, future landlord that is trying really hard to get English down.

We have a lease. We have a bedroom, a private kitchen, water closet (toilet) and shower--furnished. We have a lovely 22-year-old helping us with all of this, who sports a Mohawk in his passport photo.

This is the start of a very interesting year. In six months, we will be in France. We will be married and broke and starting out new. We are scared and broke and ready to get going. We are ready for jobs, stability and flexibility. We are ready to rely on each other, to make a limited budget carry us through Europe, to learn a language and to learn the language of marriage.

We have set our plans for our gift registry: Joe's bank offers wedding accounts. Through this, we'll explain that we have no storage and have already filled our parents' attics, and we will not be able to use any of the appliances that they want to buy us for at least a year. We will also hope for a nice set of luggage.

Over the weekend we played a game. "Ok," Joe asked, "You can only pack four books. What are they?" I am a cheat. "Does that include in my carry-on? Do collections count as one or multiple? What if I pack all paperback and you pack all hard cover? That's not fair."

These are our arguments. These are our biggest concerns. This is why I love him.