Two years ago, when we were looking for this apartment, we were so close to renting a different one. It was pretty, sunny, close to the train, and pretty cheap, but also a smallish walkup with no dishwasher. We talked about how much money we could save living in slightly cramped apartment, and decided that we weren’t home all that much, we didn’t cook all that much and we could hand wash dishes to save money on rent.
I was completely shocked when they turned us down, and asked the broker if we had some kind of problem with our credit score or rental history. He said that the owner didn’t want to rent it to us because we were not married. When I explained that we actually are married, and that I had said this on the application form, and that women aren’t legally required to change their names, and what year is it, anyway? he said I could submit our marriage license for reconsideration.
So then I took a picture of our marriage certificate, and my left hand wearing my wedding ring, and with my middle finger out and pointing to the 2015 date on the paper, because it’s not actually the 1950s anymore. Harold talked me out of sending that photo but he could not talk me into calling that broker back, and then I found this apartment on my own, and I forgot about the whole thing.
Anyway, that’s why we ended up not spending the pandemic in a cramped apartment handwashing dishes three times a day and walking five flights down to the laundry room, all conveniently located near the job I don’t have any more.
