Ha! It’s a pun.
Okay, I’m really tired.
Marti and I just moved all of our furniture plus many, many boxes of things I’m not sure were worth the lifting. It’s amazing how the things that are worth so much to you (oh, look at this sweet card I got from a friend in 1996!) become less and less valuable as time goes on (Ben’s first baby shoes? Can’t fit another damn thing in this box of children’s clothing, sweetheart).
Right now my feet are excruciatingly painful (”Marti, could you just hammer a nail into the sole of my left foot to distract me from the pain in my right?” “Not being overdramatic are you?” “Of course not!”). My back — painful. Shoulders — painful. Legs — painful. In fact, the only thing not currently painful are my elbows and the bridge of my nose. Oh, and my earlobes.
This comes from the syndrome known as “doing nothing more than push the mouse around while playing WOW” until suddenly moving 50+ pound boxes for 12…straight…hours. And the next day, doing it again.
I am such a freaking wimp. I mean, I can run, that’s fine, but if I had to ever become, say, a farmgirl? I would fall over in a minute. This doesn’t seem right. I grew up in Idaho, for Pete’s sake.
Anyway, the good news is that we’ve moved. The bad news is Matt? After I clean my house, can you come over to really clean it? Because you’re the cleanest human I know next to my dear older brother, who is too far away to come scrutinize the underside of my kitchen table or check whether or not the couch is precisely 2 inches from the wall in the middle and on both the ends. Heaven forbid the couch not sit equidistant from the wall in all areas! Regardless, a flight for my brother would be too expensive, besides the fact that I might have to stick a sharp implement in my eye if I let him in my house. His anal retentiveness goes a little too far (”Hey, this wall was crooked so I just knocked it out and now the floor doesn’t fit flush so I just pulled it up…”).
We signed on with a realtor and must have the house ready in two weeks. Two weeks! I am calling on my plebian roots to give me the strength. I’m sure my ancestors pulled plows, and surely that kind of strength will surface soon.
Right?
While I’m waiting for it to surface, I plan to stretch by pushing the buttons of the remote. And looking up numbers for movers…for next time.
May 8th, 2007 at 9:30 pm
For once, I don’t know what to say. Sure i’ll help, but you had better have some good beer on hand!
Over my head with work until at least the holiday weekend though. Sorry…
Perhaps this is where you use the klondike strategy to get Marti to do your share of work as well!?
Misheru:Yes, well, you don’t actually need to clean the whole thing, just look at the whole thing and show me where the dirt is. Honestly, I don’t see the dirt anymore, I really don’t. It comes from having two kids.
And you think I haven’t tried the Klondike bar? Hah! I’d give him the whole package (of Klondike bars).