Le nouveau appartement

This is our new living room! I am so happy with this apartment that I just may never leave. I am a homebody to begin with, so the combination of a place that suits me and has space and non-moldy air just might mean they have to toss me from the windows to get me out of here.

Or food. I think food might possibly entice me to leave. Tonight I plan to make the mushroom soup (since I have leftover funghi from last night's mushroom risotto) but I'm going to have to make the arduous journey down the stairs and across the street to buy soy or sour cream, lemon, and onion. And some crusty bread.

One thing that is incredibly pleasant about this apartment (having just spent half a year going to the laundromat) is that we have a washer/dryer. BUT: why must they make European washing machines so incredibly confusing and so incredibly slow? Why did washing a load of laundry in Indiana take less than a half hour and drying not much longer, whereas here, washing is nearly an hour and drying, sometimes twice that? I do realize that this machine is supposed to run on the electricity it would take to power a lightbulb or something, but still.

The buttons are mysterious and apparently meant to be pressed in arcane combinations in order to get what you want. Just give me a temperature dial and a clothing type dial and I'm happy. This? Is crazy. The manual is in every language but English and Spanish, so my afternoon leisure reading has been deciphering the mysterious button codes in French. I suspect that even if I understood all the French, there is no doofus-proof step-by-step explanation for what to press when. Instead, there are long descriptions and complicated charts of all the possible kinds of laundry that you would ever want to wash and which buttons you might be able to push--or not--in those situations.

The numbers: are they times or degrees? The swirly symbol: spinning or rinsing or drying? What's the difference between the line in a triangle and the line in a circle? Two lines in a rectangle? My time in the laundromat by our old place has given me a basic familiarity with the codes, but it still seems that one must be an initiate in a secret society in order to unlock the path to clean clothing and linens.

I can't do laundry into the wee hours of the morning because tomorrow I have to get up extra early so as to allow time for the new half-hour long walk to French class. I can't say that I'm terribly upset about that on-foot commute, though, because it gives me an excuse to stroll past several preferred shops, including an English-language bookstore with a nice selection of world literature, the macaron place, and a store called Dille & Kamille, which is full of charming and affordable Flemish housewares. And guess what? I have a legitimate excuse to go there, because we need stuff like a bath mat and toothbrush holder. Because, did I mention? We moved!

[Update: title change. A French apartment is of the male persuasion, I just realized.]