Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Does moving lead to spousal violence?


Before you saw it trending on Twitter;  I thought perhaps I should clarify things.

I’m surrounded by floor to ceiling boxes at the moment and piles of stuff with no rhyme nor reason. I’ve been playing a super fun new game called Stays, Goes or Burns. Why didn’t I discover it sooner? I’m getting ready to move and downsizing at the same time.  I’ll have a third of the space and hard decisions have to be made about what stays and what goes.

These decisions would be a piece of dark chocolate cake, smothered in silky chocolate buttercream with ripe, luscious raspberries – Hold on a second while I smack myself back to reality. Oh yeah, these decisions would be quite simple if it were not for one 6 foot problem.

I’m composing an anonymous e-mail at the moment informing the Enquirer that Fred Sanford is alive and well and living in my home.

I thought I’d give you a little synopsis of an argument that went down over here the other day.

Me: We need to move your bike to the garage sale pile.

HDD: No way, I need that bike, don’t touch my stuff.

Me: Really, how old are you anyways? That bike hasn’t moved since we lived here and it didn’t move in the other house either.


HDD: I have too ridden my bike since we lived here. (Wailed a 2 year old voice).

Me: SERIOUSLY (sorry I’m yelling, he was really pushing my buttons at this point)! Maybe you overlooked the fact it has two flat tires and a rusted out chain?

HDD: Look Nurse Ratchet don’t worry about my stuff, I’ll take care of it.

Me: Oh hell no - you didn’t just call me that!

Let me tell you - it took all my strength to not go straight to the kitchen and pull out one of my methodically sharpened Asian precision cutting instruments and shank him right then and there.

Me: (Did you really think he was going to get in even one word from this point forward). Look here Hot Dog Dude, I put up with your rock collection you’ve had since you were a kid, the cowboy boots that went out of style in the 90’s with 4 inches of dust on them, oh and let’s not forget your toy truck collection, but I’m drawing the line at this piece of c*** (cake) bike!

HDD: (Nothing but evil stares from him at this point).

At this point I quit talking to him because I was too busy remembering the mayo I had left out in the sun for days on end and how I needed to go inside and fix him a sandwich. Fortunately for him I just went inside and poured myself a glass of wine, after all it would be one less thing to pack.

I think we may have ended up on the evening news had it not been for a thoughtful package I received in the mail that afternoon from my dear friend Becky. Thank you such much Becky, you have no idea how much legal trouble you saved me from.


Thank you everyone for your continued support, I hope to be done moving in a couple of weeks, so I probably won’t be able to get back to regular posting until then. I wanted to share a few recipes with you that I thought sounded mighty tasty to me.

Belgian Endive Radicchio and Blood Orange Salad
Walnut Oil Mayonnaise

Enjoy,

Gina