House-sitting

Paula and I are in the midst of a 10 day house-sitting stint for a family from church. It is a bit of an upgrade from El Bajos known as Eagles Pointe, the place we call home. Being part of an interracial/multicultural marriage, I’m trying to embrace my Hispanic-in-law roots by picking the language. For those of you who don’t “Hablar Español”, El Bajos is Spanish for “The Bajos”. Seriously. Not joking.
I understand many are under the impression we live in a posh place due to the ‘e’ on the end of Eagles Pointe. The misapplied vowel can be a bit misleading; a more correct spelling to give the correct impression of our apartment complex would be Beagles Poop as opposed to Eagles Pointe, or even Eagles Point. Besides the street address, there really isn’t much difference between the apartment and the house. Well, maybe just litte:

• In the apartment is a 27” screen television from Wal-Mart featuring the 6 channels our antenna provides; in the house there are three big screen televisions which enjoy premium DirecTV service. Oh, and a regular one in the workout room.
  
• At the house, we can order a pizza from Pizza Hut and they’ll deliver whenever we want; at the apartment we cannot get the closest Pizza Hut to deliver at all. The bajos-friendly Pizza Hut 2.5 miles away won't deliver after 5pm.
  
• At the house, mail is delivered; at the apartment, the US Postal Service will no longer deliver due to the management’s failure to secure the postal boxes.
  
• Our apartment in total is the size of the master bedroom and master bathroom at the house; our kitchen is the size of one of the two walk-in closets
  
• The apartment has no personal computer so we use the work issued laptops (Oh wait, we are down to one since Paula’s was stolen in the burglary) and access the net via some neighbors wireless network; the house has four PC’s, high speed internet and wireless for the laptop.
  
• When we're hungry at the apartment, we open the fridge; at the house, we explore the three refrigerators spaced throughout and peruse the walk-in pantry.
  
• At the apartment, the ’94 Le Sabre blends in if not outdoes many of the neighbors; at the house, it’s a violation of several zoning laws and is feared by the neighbors.
  
• At the apartment I can’t hide from my wife; at the house, I could hide for days. And survive by raiding one of the three refrigerators.

These differences could be depressing, were it not for one thing about house-sitting in this luxurious neighborhood which is reminiscent of Eagles Pointe: people still look at us like we don’t belong there. It’s comforting. Really.