Avery and Jack’s Domestic Bliss Part I

Memories flooded back as I dialed our landlord. Jack and I had once been so happy in this apartment. We knew that we’d discovered our own piece of heaven the moment we’d first entered it.

Shortly after Jack graduated from college, he moved into my West Loop loft. It was bliss in one and a half rooms. He’d received and accepted a job offer from a company located in Schaumburg which allowed him to work from home two days a week. This worked out perfectly for us.

My shift at the hospital began promptly at 11:00PM. Jack and I would have dinner together each evening, either preparing a delicious meal at home or going out to one of the many establishments on Restaurant Row. Wishbone was always favorite. During dinner, Jack would tell me about his day, filling me in on all of his work gossip and—on days that he telecommuted—any good television I’d missed that afternoon. Afterward, I’d head off to work and he to bed.

I return home the following morning as Jack was preparing for his day at the office. We’d have breakfast together each day. Over eggs and coffee—champagne for me (7:00AM is my happy hour!), I would tell him about my night, filling him in on all of my work gossip and any breaking news that’d happened as he slept. Afterward, he’d head off to work and I to bed.

The newness of this arrangement, however, wore off rather quickly. Although our schedules complimented each other perfectly, the loft didn’t. The living and sleeping spaces were separated only by a half wall. While this setup worked perfectly as a bachelor pad, it was hardly ideal for coupledom.

On days that he worked from the apartment, I couldn’t get any sleep. I’d hear him typing and faxing and teleconferencing and whatever else-ing cubicle-dwellers do. Jack suffered just the same hardship. On my nights off, he’d hear my phone call and television shows and my using the blender when making margaritas for Jasper’s and my bi-weekly tele-cocktail party.

After two months of sleep deprivation, we’d both became irritable and unpleasant to be around. Enough was enough. For the good of our relationship and respective careers, we had to find a home that was more appropriate for our lifestyle. And what a search that was.

Avery Would Like a Manwich, Please

Not to be a snob—shut up, Jasper—but I may have overshot when it came to my contribution to the evening’s pot luck. I’d purchased a smorgasbord of gourmet desserts from Whole Foods Market—tarts, cookies, and other delectable bite-sized delights. In an effort to give a more formal presentation, I plated the treats on a sterling silver service “borrowed” during a visit to my parents’ home in Oak Brook.

Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I hadn’t had a Manwich since I was about 10 years old. Even in that instance, it was only because my mother left me with a teenaged sitter who was more occupied with telephoning her boyfriend than my nutritional health. But who am I to judge.
Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

“Dig in,” proclaimed Rodney.

I looked at my Sloppy Joe which was presented on Chinet atop an orange polyester table cloth. Oh well, I said to myself, When in Rome… or in this case, Milwaukee, circa 1972. I took a bite. OMG. Who knew that loose meat could taste so heavenly? A smile crept across my face. Jack smiled at me in turn.

As I continued to enjoy my Joe, I pondered the idea that these people could potentially become my in-laws. Sure the fashion was awful, the décor hideous and the artery-clogging gastronomical selection lethal, but—save for the awkward introduction between the mother and me—everyone seemed pretty nice. Furthermore Rodney and Stanley—who, it turns out is a retired flight attended (hold all jokes please, more about this tidbit of information later), were both extremely welcoming.

Just as I began to think I could really be at home there, the dinner conversation started. ¿Como se dice, WTF?

Avery Visits the Grand Duchy of Wal-Martia

I can only imagine what this woman, Jack’s mother, must have been thinking as we stared into each other’s eyes. Only moments had passed since Jack came out of the closet and announced me as his boyfriend. Ironically, she dressed as though she should be the one coming out of the closet. In addition to her stonewashed jeans and Walmart button-down, Jack’s mother sported a store-bought perm that was poorly died a still unidentified shade of light brown. I must’ve looked like an alien to her. An impeccably dressed, well-coiffed, gay alien who’d come to steal her child.

Avery’s Beautiful Laundrette

As I said before, Jack is younger than I. When we met, he was a college student home for summer break. We became inseparable after taking in that first movie. A week later, he invited me to dinner at his father’s home. I know. We moved really fast.