Thursday, November 25, 2004


And Now, The End Is Near

And so I face, the final packing ...


A word of advice. If your husband is anything like mine, do NOT let him pack anything. THIS (see above) is his idea of "ready to move".

And so I shall roll up my sleeves, roll down my stockings and hasten to the truck, stopping for no man. Or woman.

We have a truck today and tomorrow, then Saturday is moving the last of the small stuff and cleaning. Please dog let it be over on Saturday; I have to work the graveyard shift on Saturday and I don't think I could face coming back on Sunday ...

We all know I'm coming back on Sunday, right?

Anyhow, I shall be offline until this gruesome task is complete. If I never return, you can have my stuff. But only if you pack it first.

Your husband's packing is grand indeed. (I'm still laughing about it to be honest.) My husband is on the anal side, wrapping everything about 400 fucking times and then hermetically sealing it with a Ronco tool of some kind.
I packed like that once, while drunk. When we opened the boxes we found teaspoons, wrapped individually in four sheets of newspaper, and plates, wrapped four at a time with two sheets of paper towel around them.

At least I packed sober (mostly) this time.
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