Moving Schmoving

This is the song that never ends.

I thought moving a few miles down the road would be easy. "No problem!" I said. "I can take all the little stuff in my car as we need it!" I said.

What a dummy. The problem with the little stuff is that it multiplies. No matter how many trips I make back and forth to the condo, there's still crap to gather up.

Why do we have all this crap?!

I suppose I do appreciate that I didn't have to box everything up all at once but sheesh. I'm not convinced that piecemeal is any better. Here's the real problem: moving sucks.

And here's the worst part - our dadgum washer and dryer didn't fit in the new house. Those machines were the cause of much contention with the movers. They banged up my walls and outside steps getting them onto the truck, they dented the back of the washer, and they banged the walls trying to get them into the new house.

And then they didn't fit. (Insert swear word here. Or a couple. Or a lot. Dealer's choice)

Guess who has to purchase a new set of slimmer appliances? I do. 

And guess who has to wait 2 weeks for it to arrive? I do.

And guess who had to go to the laundromat with her toddler to wash clothes? I did.

Baby thought it was a grand adventure. 

I had to make small talk with a man who claimed to be an origami master. He declared that he can do folds that only 3 other people in the world can do. Hmmm. But he did give Baby a dollar so that was nice. (I bogarted it for myself)

I had to make small talk with a woman with an impressive goatee. She was suspicious of all the other laundromat patrons and counseled me to make sure no one ran off with my towels. Or my daughter. Hmmm.

I had to fold my underwear in public. Hmmm.

It was a tense morning and the escapade cost me nearly 50 bones. To wash clothes!

To recap: measure the opening for your washer and dryer before you move. 

And moving sucks.