Signed, Sealed, (To Be) Delivered: It's Mine

Well, ours. I am sharing this apartment, I know.

The signed lease, in all its grammatically convoluted splendor, is ever-so-nicely and neatly tri-folded, enveloped and ready for its transcontinental delivery. The Lessee hereby acknowledges that he/she is toast if any sketchy business goes down inside the aforementioned unit.

Sketchy business isn't likely, square as I am. My only scrape with authority occurred freshman year when the dorm R.A. told me I needed to ask permission before posting cartoons in hallways. To complement posters advertising Wonton Night, I had mounted a few copies of my own Wanton One-Ton Wonton, which were subsequently removed on the grounds that the wonton in question seemed reminiscent of certain private lady parts--not what I had in mind when I drew it. (FACT: Wontons, like innumerable other foods, resemble male and female naughty bits. Some are even made to look that way. Capezzoli di Venere, anyone?) Of no concern were the offending wonton's fishnet-clad vaudevillian legs, whose high heels bawdily trampled skyscrapers below.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. No sketchy business (or perhaps bad sketches) this time, folks. Somehow, I don't foresee any objections if I decide to plaster the whole place with certain infamous prints by Georgia O'Keeffe or Salvador Dalí. However, the Lessee shall hereby exercise his/her best discretion in selecting the shape of his/her doormat and/or any object(s) to be displayed in plain view of fellow residents, just to be sure.