We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this writer and the Jackson Heights apartment in holy rent-imony.
The writer met this apartment less than a month ago and knew that this is who she was meant to be with (at least for the next year). At that time, however, this moment seemed impossible, what with the long-distance courtship, the exorbitant costs of a New York ceremony, and the extensive scrutiny that the prospective in-laws would require before granting consent to the unlikely match.
Yet the rental agent had faith and so did the writer; so much so, that the in-laws relented after a background check and waived a follow-up in-person interview. It did require that this writer call them and plead her case, including the fact that coming to New York a week before she actually moved would involve an expenditure of time and money that she could ill-afford. And so they caved, in the manner of the grim parents in all Bollywood movies (well, except the ones that end in the hero and heroine’s death).
In the coming weeks, the writer and the apartment will embark on their journey together. They have promised to be kind to each other, to listen to each other’s needs, and to not eye other possible partners (at least for the near future).
Should anyone here know of any reason why this couple should not be lawfully leased together, shut the hell up and help the writer take her worldly possessions to the post office. They will be mailed and (hopefully) arrive at some point before the honeymoon period ends.