Prompt Images

Hello Michael,

You remember my partner Linda, don’t you? Brown hair, stylish glasses, wearing a clever Ruth Bader Ginsburg t-shirt when we ran into you at the farmer’s market in early April. Hopefully that rings a bell.

Anyhoo, Linda and I are throwing a housewarming party on the 18th. You simply must come. We are so excited about moving in together and our new home.

We got a bar-goon on a three-bedroom place just north of Michigan Avenue. The previous owners were in a rush to move (to Charlotte, of all places), so we wound up with an extra bedroom for a song. The decorating is coming along, except Linda can’t find room in our living room or her heart for the tapestry you and I got from that woman’s booth in New Hope. She thinks it’s ‘pedestrian’ and the burgundy is ‘depressing.’ I think she’s projecting.

I hope I haven’t typecast Linda as a pushy, inflexible hag. She’s much worse than that! I kid, of course. She’s truly the most enriching, beautiful, and challenging woman I’ve ever known. And she was right about that goat cheese at Phaedra and Wilson’s picnic. It had turned.

The sad news, of course, is that the new place is no longer within walking distance of a Whole Foods. I know. I’m coping as best I can.

Proactively, I signed up for a canning class and will probably install shelving units in the kitchen (at the party, I’ll show you where I plan to put them). I’m also stocking up on pectin and vinegar. Call me old fashioned, but there’s something about rustic living that just feels right.

Linda and I also submitted our application for a CSA in Northern Virginia, but to be honest, it sounds like a drag. Most of their crops are root vegetables. I’ll spend half my weekend researching beet recipes and the other half scrubbing the stains off my hands like a neurotic Lady MacBeth.

Sure, we’ll grow our own herbs, lettuce, and summer vegetables in the backyard (yes, we have one! It’s marvelous!), but that won’t be very helpful from late October until June. And until I can replicate the conditions for growing almonds, I’ll be forced to don my top hat, rub elbows with that monocle-wearing peanut man, and develop a tolerance for salt.

Linda’s excited though. And I’m trying my darnedest to listen to our therapist and let Linda’s light shine bright too.

Ooh! And there’s a somewhat exciting ethnic mart where we can buy limes and avocados, but from what I’ve seen, it’s hit or miss. Not to be insensitive, but I wouldn’t let Linda shop there alone, if you know what I mean.

Linda also mentioned she wants to buy a microwave. It shocked the hell out of me, to be honest. I just didn’t take her to be the type. I swear, Michael, if you see me with a Lean Cuisine, it’s time for a spiritual intervention.

And yet, there is a part of me that will be glad to finally be rid of the judgmental eyes of the food intelligentsia, the vegan mafia, and the yoga pants brigade.

Linda and I have started calling this move our ‘Return to Simplicity.’ I love it so much that I’ve ordered a custom sign from an independent seller on Etsy with those words woodburned on it. I think we’ll hang it over the interior of the front door.

If you can believe it, last Sunday, we spent the afternoon clipping coupons. It was kind of charming and nostalgic, to be honest. Brought me right back to my grandmother’s kitchen table. Plus, did you know that chicken only costs $2.50 a pound at the Shop-N-Go? And chop meat (after some trouble with anemia, I’m eating red meat again, please don’t hate me) was on sale for less than a dollar a pound. For that price, I can learn to appreciate a little gristle.

Michael, it’s been too long. I really want to show you the new place and the new neighborhood. I think you’ll really appreciate its personality and authenticity. It feels, oh, I suppose the words are afflicted and complex. Please do let me know if you’re in town and I’ll send the details for the party, including the new address. No gifts please. How much stemware does one couple need?


P.S. – Linda and I are also in the process of rescuing a greyhound. We’re going to name him Chomsky. I hope you’re not allergic. Wish us luck!

Kelaine Conochan

The editor-in-chief of this magazine, who should, in all honesty, be a gym teacher. Don’t sleep on your plucky kid sister.

learn more
Share this story
About The Prompt
A sweet, sweet collective of writers, artists, podcasters, and other creatives. Sound like fun?
Learn more