Perhaps there is a way to accurately describe a move that doesn’t sound bitchy, whiny and pathetic, but I haven’t found it yet.
My sister and father kicked ass in the non-paid help category. After that, the details get uglier.
There was indeed a truck ready to be rented when we went to pick it up. The person behind the counter was the tiniest Indian woman I have ever seen. Someone (my father) said, “She wasn’t even big enough for a dot.”
The stuff from storage fit into said truck, my car and my sister’s minivan with inches to spare. The only vehicle that got a flat tire was the truck,and that was not on the side of the road–but in the driveway. Gentleman who fixed the tire arrived in less than 2 hours from the initial phone call.
It could have been colder, it could have been rainier. I could have actually puked rather than just feeling like I was about to all day long. One of the animals could have escaped. There are so very many things that did not happen that could have. It was in the scheme of things a relatively painless move. However, the contest for the “relatively painless move” is a mule race. Any horse can beat any mule, and who the hell wants to be a mule, anyway?
I love my house, and I look forward to feeling good enough to actually do something to it soon. It is cute and Spencer has a back yard. He requires not to be walked down 2 flights of stairs. This is a very good thing.