Spare Room.

I really wish I had a spare room. I mean, we have E’s room, but it is not spare. It is stuffed with guitars, amps, computer stuff, mixing stuff, and other stuff.

I think none of my friends who live locally have spare rooms. We live in much smaller living spaces than the national average. Arwen yearns for another 300 square feet. I know I could use it, for sure.

This is coming up just now because E’s brother and his girlfriend are coming to stay with us. Why? Because they are impoverished grad students, and E’s brother is giving a paper at UBC. Not because they really communicate with E regularly. Because they don’t. E and his brother once went three years without speaking.

But I don’t have anywhere to put them. One can crash on the couch and one can crash on the floor, but I have no spare room bed. Anne of Green Gables would be horrified.

I feel sort of embarrassed by my lack of spare room (35 and you don’t have a place to put guests?? On somebody’s yardstick, you’re a big, fat, zero!) but also ashamed that I feel embarrassed about it (Almost no one has a spare room around here. Single-family residences are divided into duplexes, triplexes or more. Even my landlord doesn’t have a spare room!)

So, with no cash to get a suitable-for-just-being-a-sofa sofa bed, they’ll be sleeping rough chez MonkeyPants. What else am I going to do?

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