The million-dollar question of which one of us will be moving finally has an answer. "The survey says...": me.

Sometime during my Craigslist apartment-search freak-out, I e-mailed the man who rented us our current apartment and asked if he or the "relocation experts" for whom he works had any vacancies nearby. He wrote back saying he had one available unit within my budget. I spoke to my superintendent about the unit (he maintains both buildings). He said it had carpeting and my first thought was, I don't care how cheap it is, I need wood floors. The superintendent urged me to look at it anyway. Sure enough, the floors were covered in ragged grey carpeting. I noted several visible stains; no doubt there were others that could only be seen beneath a black light stain detector.

Aside from the carpet, the apartment was perfect. The kitchen had no counter (which is fine, because I don't cook) and the previous tenant had covered the original ceramic tile in the bathroom with a hideous, rose-colored, faux-stone linoleum. But the living room and bedroom were good-sized, the rent was $125 a month cheaper than Ex's and my apartment, and it had "character," as they say.

But oh, that carpeting!

On a whim, the super and I decided to pull up a corner of the carpet. Lo and behold, we discovered parquet wood floors! Soiled and neglected, true, but wood nonetheless. I agreed to pay the super's friend to pull up the carpet and refinish the floors. Ladies and gentlemen, I have a new home!

I saw the new home tonight sans carpeting, and while the floor is much darker than I would have liked (the friend chose a dark finish to hide some stains), I can see myself living and being happy here.

On the way out, the superintendent and I scheduled the next few days. Tomorrow he will finish the floor. It needs two days to dry; then he and I will touch up the walls and peel the stick-on linoleum off the bathroom floor. Then Ex and I will clean. And then I'll move in.

The superintendent seemed surprised when I mentioned that Ex would help me clean. "He's going to help you, huh?" "He owes me," I said. "We were together for 12 years. You're damn right he's going to help." The superintendent still seemed surprised. He had spoken to Ex about the new apartment a few days ago.  "He really wants you out of there," said the superintendent.

Perhaps I shouldn't be in such a hurry to move out.