Photo Credit East Side Flicker

I have never lived in a big city. I think it would be exciting. First off, the whole cooking dilemma would be resolved, because all I would have to do every night is call a different restaurant, and they would deliver dinner to my door. Here in the heartland, they only do that with pizza. If I lived in New York, for instance, I could throw away my crock pot and the big frying pan. Really, I could get rid of almost all the pots, the infusion blender (who talked me into getting that, anyway?), my roasting pan, and just about everything but the microwave and the toaster. It would be blissful.

Cities have views out of the windows of gorgeous twinkling lights at night, cars whizzing by below, and I would get binoculars and become obsessed with the people in neighboring buildings—Rear Window all over again.

There wouldn’t be lawns, this is true. But no mowing! No weeding! Instead, there would be gorgeous parks to stroll in. Frizbeeing in meadows. Not that I have ever wanted to throw a Frizbee around, but in New York, I bet I would. Instead of a lawn, I would have a little balcony or terrace with lovely pots of herbs and small trees. I would go out on the balcony in some sort of fashionable negligee, and water all that stuff with a copper watering can, my hair mussed by the breeze. Of course, I would have coffee out there, and I could read the New York Times. What. I might.

In the city, I would of course be able to afford a pre-war apartment with lots of molding, two bathrooms with the original tiles and antique pedestal sinks. But there would be plenty of storage in my apartment, of course. I would have herringbone original wood floors and Persian carpets. A fireplace in the dining room.

Neighbors? Well, in cities, you have them, but apparently you don’t have to talk to them. This might be a hardship for my husband, who spends most of his time in fair weather wandering around our neighborhood, looking for unwary neighbors to chat with. Most of them seem to like it. In New York, he would be at loose ends. And if he approached people in the park, he might get arrested. So there’s that.

In the city, you never get bored, because there are so many things to do. Museums, little shops, used book stores, plays, poetry readings. I would do that stuff. Don’t remind me that we have those things in Dayton, Ohio, and I never go to them. I would in New York. I would.

I know that apartment living means that one must divest. There is just no comparison between a 2300 square foot house in Dayton and a 900 or so square foot apartment. But I hear that tiny living is all the rage, and it is so freeing. No, not free.Affording rent in my kind of place in New York might be problematic, especially since I would most likely be living by myself (see neighborhoods and husband, above).

I have seen so many TV shows and movies about people who live in cities and seem to love it. They all have interior brick walls and floor to ceiling windows. The rich ones almost always have little libraries with dark red walls. I want one of those. Although I got rid of most of my actual books when I bought my Kindle.

My urban fantasy includes one pet. I have five cats—way too many for the city. Most apartments let you have one small pet.  So if I were to go there, it would be hard to choose which cats to leave behind. With my husband.

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