I would like a fish and a bicycle, please.

So far, so good. I have been back in town for just over three days. My new bedroom is a lovely shade of sage green. I still need a lock on my door, a dish rack, some ashtrays, an ironing board, my desk chair, and a shizload of air freshener. I have fantasies about beds of lavender just outside my doorstep, but since this is another week when I have to decide between gas and food, and finagle creative ways to keep up my alcohol intake, the gardening will have to wait. At least, I tell myself, there is a yard – a rather large yard that will need to be mowed at some point in the foreseeable future.

Every new apartment has a certain funk about it. When I burst through the door on Friday, I got smacked in the face with this heavy, vanilla musk that was meant to cover the smell of decaying former hotel room. It took me a full day to locate the culprit, one of those awful oil-infused incense stick air fresheners that the former occupant’s girlfriend must have encouraged him to leave to mask the smell. Febreeze, fresh paint, lavender, and sage should take care of the problem. And getting rid of the moldy rug in the bedroom should help. Also, it might be a good idea to avoid opening the cabinet under the kitchen sink.

All in all, it’s not such a bad space. (This is Montauk. I’ve dealt with worse.) Wouldn’t you rather live in a tiny little hovel with a big yard than a palace with no space to play outside?

Anyway, it is times like these when I get to thinking I want a boyfriend, even though I know full well that Montauk is no place to look for one. Broke as I am, it would be so nice to have someone take me out to dinner. I’m hungry, damn it. And I could use a drink.

I could also use someone to help me replace that doorknob, and to lift up the furniture when I change the carpet. And of course, someone to take care of the lawn while I’m puttering around planting vegetables.

Boyfriends are great for a few other things, like keeping your feet warm at night, and drinking next to you so you don’t look like a complete looser who shows up at the bar alone.

Sometimes, they’re even good for conversation – I’ve never had one like that, but this is what I’ve heard, from some of my cosmopolitan friends who live in Brooklyn. They have boyfriend stores, in the city, where you can go shopping and try on a different one every day of the week, trade them in when you get tired, and all the while your cocktails are paid for. Marvelous.

I snap back into reality when I realize that I’ve had boyfriends before, and while the lawn would occasionally get mowed the doorknobs never did get fixed and my credit cards got maxed out faster than my boyfriends ran out of cash.

I see these girls, who never pay rent, and spend their money on clothes and pedicures – but that’s in East Hampton. Out here, with my own two feet planted on the ground, there will be no meal ticket for my superficial ass in the foreseeable future. This is the price we pay for freedom.