OH ME, OH MY. I PUT SUCH high hope in that southern belle, and then she done me wrong! I'm working on my twang--writing the lyrics--humming the tune: this song will be a landlording first!
Do you recall, Dear Reader, my vacantly-waiting apartment (and how could you possibly forget, with my chat-chat-chattering?) Well, here I thought I'd found the perfect inhabitants; their current landlord told me, "you're gonna love them!" when I spoke with her. The keys were waiting to drop into their hands at 12:45 today.
And then they sashayed right out of the lease-signing with a phone message early this morning: "Sorry, we had the moving van partially packed, and were really looking forward to moving in. But the new boss called last night and informed us that the company will be moving to a new location in September. We knew of the possibility, but didn't know for sure... At your apartment the commute would be a little further than we'd like. We're ever so sorry. In fact, we're wringing our hands."
When I write the song, I'll make sure to mention the wringing of hands (I'm not saying whose) and the new lease agreement forlornly destined to the trash heap.
Have you got a fiddle, Dear Reader?
I need some help.