For one month. When I was 22. I used to work for a wedding and event coordinator, and through the years I got to meet many interesting people. Working events at venues, you get to know the owners, and there was one couple in particular who owned an exquisite Plantation-style monster of a home in the country outside of Waxahachie. It was a popular indoor/outdoor venue for weddings and parties—we had worked events there, and we had been guests there as well. I was fond of the owners, and at the time I believe they were fond of me, too.
They were going back home on holiday [he was from Italy and she was from England], and they asked if I would like to stay in their home to keep an eye on things from mid-December to mid-January. Um, fuck yeah I would. Kit and I had only been dating a few months, and he was kind enough to drive all the way down from Richardson most nights to stay with me so I wouldn’t be alone in the gianormous house.
While they were away, the couple asked that I not host parties in their home, I was to stay on the ground floor of the house, take care of their dog [a large black Labrador], and keep things in order—they even had their maid come in and change my sheets and pick up after me! So naturally, the first weekend there, I hosted a party and it mostly took place upstairs. They had an amazing upstairs media room—we had to go up there to watch movies! And they had a fantastic balcony/wrap-around porch upstairs—like we weren’t going to hang out on that.
During that month, I managed to break their stove, their dog ran away, and I also broke one of the tobacco pipes in his collection [it was a freak accident during an epic photo op including his giant old man glasses, which I managed to not break]. A week after their return, she stopped by my place of business to return a pair of man undies that had been left at the house. I wasn’t asked to house sit for them again, and I heard they moved back to Europe some time later. I would like to think it wasn’t because of me, but I am not completely certain.