An Ode to Second Homes

The floor of the bathroom at Sara's place is, for some reason, about 1 1/2 inches higher than the rest of the apartment. Once upon a time, I used to trip and stub my toe on that stupid elevation every time, but this past week staying at her house, it didn't bother me at all. I didn't even notice it until someone who came over pointed it out, and I thought, "Wow, I've really grown into this place." It's like the moment you start thinking in a new language you've been trying to learn, or the moment you're able to drive to a previously unfamiliar location without thinking. There's the little click of a light bulb in your head that tells you, "Hey, you know this!"
We were calculating, and I believe it's seven times that I've stayed at Sara's place...around twice a year since we met in 2006. A little less when we were in high school, and a little more when we entered college. I love everything about her apartment, from the Charmin' toilet paper and Puffs tissues that always feel so good, to the fluffy purple blankets and row of stuffed animals on the bed, to the box of Maple Syrup Quaker's oatmeal Sara always has waiting in the pantry for me to eat. There's the blue sofa with the footrest that I always sit on, and the leather brown swivel chair that Sara always sits on when we watch TV. There's the closet where I hang my coat, the teddy bear I hug when we sleep, and the bluish-purple bath towel I use after showers. I've learned to close the toilet seat cover after using the bathroom, I know which exact drawer the nail clipper I constantly have to borrow is in, and I've finally figured out the complicated 3-lock routine on the door.
To be honest, I feel more comfortable at Sara's apartment than at my own in Boston. Maybe it's because of the hardwood floors (which I really appreciate and prefer over carpet), the big queen-sized bed (I LOVE big beds), or the TV and microwave (which I tell myself I don't need, but...I really do miss them). Maybe it's because I've known her place longer, and because it's in the PERFECT location--a newly-opened Trader Joe's, Ann Taylor Loft, Gray's Papaya, subway station, and Westside Diner all within a block away, and the Met/Carnegie Hall just five minutes away. Or maybe it's because of that dumb centipede that keeps popping up and scaring the living daylights out of me in Boston.
But I know that mostly, it's because of Sara. Like the fact that we can either stay up past 3am talking our heads off and laughing hysterically, or go straight to bed at 11pm and pass out without saying more than, "Shall we sleep?" "Yes. Good night!" When we're eating, we can stare at the TV and not talk at all, or we can discuss something really important/meaningful, and either way is fine. We'll take turns doing the dishes, cleaning up when there are guests, and she can always tell when I'm hungry and want to eat something in particular...she prepares food for me and listens to me practice, and despite her adamant insistences that she does not want kids or a husband, I just know she'd make a great mom.
I love my California home most of all, but as for second homes, I am so lucky as to have one of the best. :)

*** When we were getting in bed-
Sara: (looking for her stuffed animals) Where is everybody?

While I was practicing in the bedroom, which is adjacent to the bathroom-
Sara: Sorry, I have to poop.
Me: Oh okay, do you want me to move to the other room?
Sara: No, you can stay here. Geez Jennifer, it's not going to be that intense.

HAHAHA You see how awesome she is??