Look out, Bitchin’ Somerville*, here comes Sassy Sundry. Sometimes the Universe decides that you really deserve a change and hands one to you. I was at a party last week (the one where a number of people insisted that I was younger than my twenty-nine-year-old sister), and someone I used to know asked me how I was liking my Cape Ann digs. I gave my usual reply, “Oh, I love my apartment, but it’s really, really quiet, and I’m looking for a change.”
“Interested in moving to Somerville?”
“Yeah, actually,” I said, a little surprised.
He said, “Well, I own a building in Somerville, and I have an apartment free. Do you want to take a look at it?”
Turns out the place is perfect for me. Wood floors, bay windows, a gorgeous glass door separating the living area from the dining area—charm up the whazoo. I’ll need to get a roommate for now, but that’s not the end of the world. The commute won’t be bad, especially since it’s in reverse and the place isn’t far from the highway.
I had wanted to move to Boston/Cambridge/Somerville for ages now, and I couldn’t have come up with a better deal for myself if I’d tried. So… I guess the moral of the story is that I should keep going to parties.
Off to pack!
*In the mid-nineties, there was a futon company that used to advertise their location as such. It always stuck in my head.