Easter Sunday morning, I got up about 8 and began cleaning my apartment. This is my Sunday morning routine, really. I put on music or an audiobook or a podcast, and I sing or get swept along in a story, and I clean. I always start in the kitchen, then the bathroom, then the rest of the rooms, then the floors. Every couple of weeks, I dust everything. Periodically, I pick a project and do that -- washing all the windows or cleaning the baseboards or organizing closets.

Oddly, I find it relaxing and satisfying. For the first time in my life, I enjoy cleaning my house.

Easter Sunday, I was cleaning in anticipation of ana coming over for a dinner of roast duck. I'd been up and doing shit for a couple of hours when the doorbell, which plays a chime I should recognize and can't place, began to echo through my house. The dogs exploded toward the door. I was still in my pajamas, and I considered grabbing my hoodie before I opened the door. But nah, I thought. It's probably Jehovah's Witnesses or something.

But it was my 80-year-old landlord's equally old live-in boyfriend. He carefully made eye contact in that overt way that said clearly, "I am not staring at your braless chest because I respect you," and he handed me a gift bag.

"June wanted me to bring this down," he said. The dogs tried to push past me to say hello and he petted them each in turn. The dogs adore him.

I thanked him profusely, ordered the dogs back inside, and read the card:

Happy Easter $toxicfur.
From The Easter Bunny.
PS The glass needs an explanation, I know.

I opened the bag with the dogs trying their best to bury their noses in it. As expected, there was a handful of dog treats, along with a cake box containing a grocery-store Easter cake. And, there was the plastic tumbler: A translucent purplish glass with Minnie Mouse and Easter eggs circling the top.

Try Me! announced a vaguely arrow-shaped sticker on the side, so I turned it over and pressed the button. It brightly flashed like a disco ball, in multiple colors. I laughed delightedly as the dogs danced for the treats. I handed each of them a slice of dessicated chicken breast and continued to laugh as I placed the tumbler carefully by the sink.

Ana and I had a lovely time, cooking and eating and chatting like the old friends we are. We drank wine and played with the dogs and the cat and I showed ana the ridiculous glass.

That night, June and Ernie returned home from wherever their Easter celebrations had taken them, while I was hanging out on the back porch enjoying the lingering warmth of one of the few truly spring-like days we've had this year.

"Thank you so much for the Easter gifts," I said. "The dogs loved their treats, and that glass..." I laughed and shook my head.

"That glass," June said, raising her chin proudly. "I wanted to explain."

"You see," she said, in her slightly quavering old-Cambridge solidly middle-class accent. "Everybody needs a certain amount of absurdity in their life." She paused, giving her punchline a certain amount of dramatic effect. "And there is nothing more absurd than that glass."

And in that one moment, I remembered that I'd chosen exactly the right place to live. She was absolutely right.