Ozark Crescent

I was prepared to go home and mope on Thursday night, but then our Artistic Director invited me to his house for dinner, along with the rest of the company. It was a farewell potluck dinner in honour of our guest pilates instructor. Serge lives in an adorable little house on Ozark Crescent, right around the corner from Broadview Station. There was a write-up about it on the cover of the Real Estate (or some special Home-y) section of the Globe & Mail last spring -- one of those features on 'celebrity' homes. The house had the exact same layout as my old house on Donlands, only this one felt cozier. Perhaps it was because the walls were painted in warm orangey tones or maybe Serge's whimsical paintings adorning the walls or maybe the Frenchness of it all (from the rustic-looking furniture to the dried herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling, to the pretty little soaps in his bathroom). With his plan to resign from the company having recently been announced, there's been speculation that he's moving back to the West Coast, where he'd first arrived from France in the 1980s. I wonder if I'll have saved enough for a down payment on his house by springtime.

Am I at all worried that just last week, a burglar snuck into his house in the wee hours of the morning and took off with his briefcase and favourite pair of pants? (Who steals pants from a house? That's almost as pesky as stealing, say, someone's barbecue lid!) Nah, I'm not worried at all. Before taking off, the thief did manage to extract Serge's underwear from the pants and leave them in his backyard. All this time, my boss and his dog were sound asleep. So it could have been worse. The thief could have taken his underwear as well. Now imagine some stranger wearing your underwear. That would be creepy.