Rob Barnum, who heads up Cyan’s West Coast office, arrives in town early early early tomorrow morning via JetBlue red-eye, with his fiance Sophie in tow.
On past such trips, with both of us decidedly more single, and with our company equally bastardly cheap, Rob opted out of hotel booking, instead taking over my living room’s fold-out couch.
So, out of old habit, we didn’t book him somewhere to stay at the time he booked his flight for this trip, about a month or so back. We thought nothing of it, until late last week, when we realized that wedging a nearly-married couple along with me into my Manhattan-size apartment would, in short, be remarkably, awkwardly cramped.
So, for the balance of the week, I’m essentially gifting my home to those two crazy kids, and invading Jess’ instead. It will be, by far, the longest contiguous stretch of nights she’s had to put up with me; I give it four nights, tops, before my insisting on alternative pronunciations of words like ‘equinox’ leads her to punch me in the face.
Update: Jess texted to say she wouldn’t punch me in the face. She’d kick me instead.