Tenants, we doon need no steekin' tenants!

'When', the Paramour asked this very morning over the kitchen table, 'do you think you think you might rent this place?'
I lifted my cup and pretended to give it a lot of thought.
'Ummm well now, I...lemme see, I er...'
Because we have been together longer than a wet weekend the paramour sees through my cunning stalling attempt and presses me for an answer, the cad.
'Because I was talking to Bill yesterday and he reckons if everything goes according to plan the turnaround on the house could be the end of October.'
This almost startles the Egyptian Cotten pyjamas off me.
'October? October!' I cry, spluttering coffee thither and yon. 'But that's-' I raise a hand in front of my face and waggle it uselessly.
'Next month.' The paramour says helpfully and begins to butter toast.
I am flumoxed.
Really I shouldn't be. Whenever I have to make great big life changing decisions I always pretend I know nothing about them until they are right on top of me and I have no real choice but to deal with them. It is the Cat family way.
Kenny Rogers comes on the radio..."you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run..."
I glance at the ceiling. Is this some kind of joke? Fuck you Rogers, at least I can blink.
'You need to think about it. Do you want to leave the apartment with an agency or handle it yourself?' He glances up at the ceiling too unaware that the forces of mirth and country music are busy taking the ever loving piss out of me. 'It might be better if you just let an agency handle it.'
'Umm, I'll have to see...'
We resume our breakfast. But my appetite has faltered and by the time the paramour has left for work I am a complete grouch.