The time is 6pm and the temperature is 99 degrees. Guess what we're doing right now.
Well, pre-moving anyway. This is the part of the moving process which makes perfectly backwards sense: buy a bigger house for all of your crap, but before you can move it to the house you've already paid for, pay for storage for all of your crap in the interim.
Ah, the joys of The Storage Unit. Since there are only two human beings in this house, we use the space a little differently than someone with, oh, say, three children and a normal sized dog of more than 14 pounds. So before the For Sale sign can officially be planted in the front lawn, the weight bench and treadmill must leave the spare bedroom. Because we're trying to sell a house here people, and people like bedrooms, not makeshift home gyms and coffee tables used for lightweight cardigans and seasonal coverups.
Minnesota has gone tropical as of late- I have been trapped in a house for 10 hours a day at work. In Solitary Nanny Confinement with two young children and two infants who simply cannot be taken out into the rainforest for total and complete roasting. After working an hour later than usual yesterday, I came home to an ever-eager Christopher: ya wanna move some shit? he proposed.
WELL SURE! After 11 hours at work, I most definitely want to drag that giant metal equipment out into the heat only to have it sweat humidity all over me, then schlep it over to the storage locker. Now if that isn't a party, what is?
The joke was on me because do you know what's more fun than moist fitness equipment? Moving furniture at 10pm!
Since the other mattress that would make the spare bedroom an actual bedroom is in its very own storage unit, we decided to play Furniture Refurb & Shuffle and move a rundown sofa from the living room into the bedroom. Big, bulky, and barfed on by the dog. We hoisted it up the stairs and to the doorway, where Chris explained to me in lots of geometrically descriptive terms how the couch needed to be turned, angled, and jammed through the doorway.
I was immediately reminded of this. One of my favorite evening sitcom moments of all time. I used to mimic that moment with my sister-- over, and over, and over. Immediately, I began to chuckle. And when Chris told me to quit it, I laughed harder.
The couch clipped the doorframe and we heard a loud thud. It was the wooden leg. On the floor. No longer attached to the couch frame. Which made me laugh harder yet, because what else are you going to do when you've been awake for 18 hours, you own two houses and desperately need to retrofit one of them to make someone else buy it, and your dumpy old couch just fell apart on your toes?
Oh, moving. Such a special treat.