Maybe in forty years. We shall see.
Grannies need love, too!
Not the kind that makes them moist. When I’m a grandpa i might one day reconsider. But not this day.
Yeah. So either admit you’re not a granny or go bake me some cookies.
I’m a granny that doesn’t bake cookies!
Well grannies don’t get deep prayer.
Well, yours did…
Yeah but not from me sweet pea. But if you’re a granny too then i guess that explains things
Like, my sharp sense of style??
That’s probably it. That shawl and those orthopedic shoes. The way you put in your teeth in the morning. It just gives me a raging boner.
I know, I know. It brings all the boys to the yard.
Yeah, but only to rake the leaves.
@Faustus actually inspired me to write down something that happened to me and my S.O. shortly after we moved over here. Stay tuned for naked grannies, dangerous housing situations and really disgusting household items. This will be fun.
I can’t what to see what horror i have spawned.
STORYTIME (since I’m really useless in my current health state and my current chakra work is not that noteworthy atm)
Hello, fellow readers
Let’s jump back into the time when my S.O. and I moved in together and lived to tell the tale! Ahem
When my S.O. finished his degree we had the fabulous idea to transform our long distance relationship to a not so long distance relationship.
Contrary to our planned time frame we got new jobs really soon. Too soon. We needed an appartment and we needed it asap so we could avoid those ratchet boarding houses.
My S.O. would scout different appartments, since he lived only a 40minutes drive away from our new destination (my ass was still glued to my old job, seven driving hours apart from him). I trusted him since we shared the same likes and dislikes and -roughly- the same taste.
One day I received a phonecall: he had finally found the perfect appartment, a little bit over our budget (but still remarkable cheap for a room in the middle of the city) but ready-furnished and available asap.
He told me that the landlady was an elderly woman who needed the money to increase her pension, she lived in the same house above said appartment. The furniture was a little bit out of date, he told me, but not too bad and usable. We would have a garden and a lot of space to use and the city would grant us a parking space for a yearly fee. Sounds good, right?
There was only one thing that irked me: the landlady wanted the rent one month earlier than we could even move in plus a 1500 bucks worth deposit. Time limit: seven days or she would unlist us.
“Well”, I thought, “She’s an old lady and maybe she is just really wary with strangers like us.”
My S.O. told me that she wanted to get to know me before we moved in. Since I couldn’t move my ass on the fly to her I thought that a phonecall must suffice until we would meet each other for the leasing contract.
When I called her she wanted to know a lot of personal stuff about me. My S.O. already told her some things but she was really inquisitive about me and my background. A little bit rude for my taste, but again: an old lady who may had some bad luck before.
She also asked me about the deposit transfer. I told her that I would transfer the money AFTER we signed the leasing contract. She asked me why I thought this would be acceptable. I was like “eeehhh, because law and stuff?” and took her to a little excursion about german landlord and tenant law.
She answered: “Well, maybe where you are coming from. Here we are having things different.”
Not only that she openely attacked my background (I will come back to that later) but she also thought that I would imagine a whole law system that applied nation wide and not only to “where I’m coming from”.
We agreed upon transferring rent and deposit right after we signed the contract.
When we arrived at the house in question I was not really off my knockers, tbh. The neighbourhood wasn’t exactly appealing but I’ll get used to it, I thought.
As we stood in front of the house I noticed a certain smell. Maybe some of you guys know what I mean: when you walk past a house (doors and windows closed, a normal house) and it just gives off a whiff of old/moldy/stale (and probably moist) house smell? That smell. It was quite present.
We waited for approx. 20 Minutes in front of the door, she wouldn’t show up or answering her phone.
After several attempts of calling her we could see a white Volvo 240 GL with way too much speed coming down the lane. With a sharp break and shrieking tires the car would park right behind my car and I prayed to the god of car health that it wouldn’t turned into a steely mush.
An elderly woman would emerge from said car: she wore huge sunglasses, a huge sun hat and a way too revealing summer dress. She would wave at us cheeringly. When she arrived to the house she said with a cheery tone: “I just came from a burial, you know?”
As we entered the house I noticed a very dusty and old stench (like the appartment hasn’t had fresh air for a few years) and how DARK and COLD it was although it had a lot of windows and it was summer, actually.
The furniture was not only fucking old, it was TASTELESS fucking old. A wild mixture of the 60’s and 70’s, with some 40’s stuff thrown in, but it seemed that no one had cared for those dinosaurs too well.
She hastily shoved us into the kitchen (“Your husband has already seen everything” - Husband, ha), probably the most modern room (fresh out of the early 80s).
We sat down at a very sticky table (“My cleaning lady will take care of everything before you move in!”) and she served us…ugh, I don’t even know. She simply mashed up some frozen berries and served this stuff in two huge glasses, for my S.O. and me. Then, she popped out a big bottle of sparkling wine and emptied it in our glasses over the fruit abomination. I could see little flies and dust swimming in that slobber around.
“I made it just for you two lovebirds! Drink up, such a happy event should be celebrated!”
I can’t, I have a seven hours drive back home, you wench, I thought to myself. I looked at my “husband”; he fiddled with the glass and looked very very unhappy. We signed the leasing contract which clearly stated that I could pay the deposit via a three month rate (of course, she wouldn’t accept that). We discussed if it would be possible for us to move some of the furniture into the cellar or something since we had our own furniture at hand which suited better to our needs (I will write later about the furniture part). She said that this would be not acceptable since all her family members already lived with this and every part of this furniture is actually a really valuable unique masterpiece.
But she wouldn’t mind if we would lay out a new floor, maybe with real wood or something…
She would constantly nag us about drinking that dirty dishwater she called “drink” and since she wouldn’t accept a “no” we just chugged down that berry-sparklywine-slime. I felt not so good.
She told us that she have to leave soon. As we wanted to part from her she suddenly grabbed my hand and asked me if I had the money with me. I told her that I would transfer the money today via online banking. She went furious and insisted that I should transfer it right before her eyes.
I fucking kid you not: that old hag followed us through the city (my S.O. and I lightly intoxicated by now) until we got to a bank where she could control my doings on the ATM. I refused to pay her via cash and again, she was pissed.
During our trip to the bank she told us how evil the previous family had been to her and that they left at night, leaving their keys in her mailbox (I wished she would have brought that up before we signed anything).
She constantly asked us about our religious beliefs. My S.O. was kinda safe since he was baptised, but me…
I told her that a part of my ancestors were Huguenots and tried to lead her to the cultural worth of that ancestry so I could distract her that my family doesn’t give a shit about religion in any way.
She then proceeded to mix up Huguenots with freemasons and if I knew that the building across our house is actually a freemason lodge house (BS, that building was a fucking education centre for pottery and whatnot) and that I should tell them about my ancestry, etc.
Fucking Yikes. And we hadn’t even started, yet.