After a long work day, Tenzin took me out to JINYA, a hip, modern, and congested little ramen bar, just a few minutes’ drive from our Downtown Houston apartment. We both ordered tonkotsu ramen and for dessert I tried the green tea and pistachio ice-cream.
When we pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, an intoxicated, panhandling man on the street aggressively popped our windshield wipers up at the stoplight and washed our glass with his dirty, extendable squeegee. When we asked him to please stop he didn’t, which is nothing new in Houston. I usually give them money. At least this guy didn’t slam our car with his fist, as some do. Anyway, he didn’t return the wipers to their proper position, so we drove back to the apartment with them extended in the air, laughing off the tension.
While we were walking down the hallway toward our front door, I was gently nagging Tenzin about something while simultaneously opening the front door and, low and behold, in front of me stood the two bar stools that I have been wanting from Ikea. The ones that we had playfully bickered over for days while eating standing, him thinking they were unnecessary and me they were the Holy Grail. He drove back 18 miles to get them and then assembled them, so they’d be ready when I came home.
The funny thing is, just last night I semi-sarcastically told him, “we don’t need to buy any furniture, let’s just put all that money into cryptocurrency and sit on the floor this year.” That’s all it took.