Just An Old Fashioned Love Song

My brother in law and his fiance are moving in together. Well, more specifically she is moving in to his place, which is a nicely outfitted garden basement apartment belowstairs from my inlaws. Lest you get the wrong idea, my inlaws, all, are amazing - clever, funny, articulate, brilliant, sarcastic, erudite - and yet so salt of the earth you're perpetually thirsty when visiting. So this isn't some creepy "I live in the basement" guy and his freak show bridezilla. This is an honest to go, adorable couple - he getting his masters and teaching preschool, and she finishing her degree in art therapy. Together they will educate the world, and likely stay thin for want of a substantial meal, or at least the money to buy one. Thank god Doug and I have no problems whoring for The Man. I see nursing home bills.

Last night, in answer to my question regarding how settled they felt, my future sister in law disclosed that she was a little stressed about space. Because, of the three room apartment they are about to live in, and three's a stretch mind you - think studio with a partition for the bed and a wee foyeresque area created BECAUSE of the partition - stressed because in the three room apartment they are about to live in, one area is going to be devoted to the dog crates. Crates. Plural. Because she's bringing her dog with her.

And it'll be fine, because her dog gets along with his dog.
And wow, that's great because BOTH dogs get along with my mother in laws dog.

Yep.
Her black lab gets along great with my inlaws two yellow labs.

Which would be fantastic if they lived on a, say, farm.
Or a deadend.
Or heck, in a suburb, even.

My allergic husband is thrilled.
Im off to Sears to buy a vacuum.
"it's a housewarming gift or all of you."