Today I became aquainted with the family staying next to me in the apartment. I am really glad to know they are a family, as at first I thought this elderly and very unattractive man (he is missing his bottom teeth, has a long grey, unruly mullet for a haircut, and wears severely stained clothes...ON PURPOSE) was dating the young girl that he is traveling with. But I was wrong, that is his daughter. The 'dad' is a college professor at the University of Iowa, and previous to learning he was a 'father', I assumed the young girl was one of his students. I was glad to learn that relationship was different. I mean, imagine being wooed by your professor, brought on an International trip to Spain, and then staying in a quasi hostel-like-abode with some random American who gets dolled up in the evenings and strolls in at 4AM?
Anyway, this Iowan family has taken over the 4th floor. The floor on which I share. Its just them and me staying on this floor, and yet, you would think you walked into the rec room of their home in the States. Their stuff is everywhere! And just like it were home, they never leave…EVER. In the morning I see Jerry (mullet man) in his bathrobe making tea. (I cringe when he offers me some.) In the afternoon his daughter is blaring Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies” and attempting to sing along. (Maybe I should teach her the dance?) And in the evenings, when I am headed out, they are in the kitchen washing dishes...as a family. Its just weird.
Different strokes for different folks, I guess. Thank God, my parents never sprung a situation like this on me. Can you imagine? Something tells me if they had, this would not be my first major solo foray into the world.
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