…or at least locked out of my own house.
New Wife does not want me to be present today at the moving of our stuff from the garage back into the apartment because reasons. (Mostly because I fly into frequent rages at the recalcitrance of furniture to fit through doors etc. and am likely to break things when it doesn’t. Also, I hate packing stuff away, and she absolutely loves doing it.)
So I’ve supplied the movers (strong young backs) from a company that I’ve used many times before, and that’s all there is to it.
And no, she’s not going to rearrange our stuff so that I’ll never find it again — she is actually more a creature of habit than I am, so when I’m eventually allowed back in, sometime this afternoon, I should find the place almost ready for human habitation.
My sole responsibility is the packing away of guns into safes, and buying the groceries we’ll be needing to resume our former life, such as it was. And that’s only scheduled for tomorrow (Sunday).
It could be worse. Like it was back in mid-February.
She sounds like a smart woman.
Smart woman? Well, heck yes. But smart man too, ’cause he knows when to head for the tall grass and keep the hell out of the way. Tomorrow being Mother’s Day, whether she is or isn’t, he’d best be spending his time in exile finding her some fine trinket to let the Good Woman know he appreciates the hell out of her efforts.
Hint: it better not involve housekeeping equipment or cooking utensils. I learned that lesson the hard way.
I trust Kim to have booked a suitable restaurant.
We finished moving all the heavy stuff. Only a couple small jobs remained, which I attended to once I was released from banishment, said tasks arousing only two or three “Motherfucker!” comments from Yours Truly. (About 2% of what would have been said had I been involved in wrestling couches through narrow doorways, etc.)
The apartment is not quite done — a half-wall needs drywall, the kitchen plumbing needs to be reconnected, the fridge replaced, etc. so we’re still at Ye Olde Cheapskayte Inne until Wednesday morning.
Tomorrow is Do Nothing (a.k.a. “Lollygag”) Day. I might do the laundry later in the day.
Sounds like a good time for a couple of pints at the pub!
I hate moving. If and when you do, secure sterling (SLV etc). Just a thought.
Dude, guys like me pray for that to happen to them- banishment when there’s tortuous busy work to do.
You are one lucky man.
What’d you do with yer day. Size up the BLM bs in Plano?