I've Got Some Splainin' To Do

These are my friends, Kate and Lyle! Or, at least they were my friends before they asked me to help them move… Now I hate them.

Just kidding!

Except I actually did secretly hate them for the 14,323 hours (this is a rough estimate) we hauled all of their worldly positions down the stairs from their third floor condo to the third floor of their brand new house. With each trip we become less and less civilized. I am not exaggerating when I say that we were climbing on top of each other like monkeys to adjust track lights, knocking out bannisters and door hinges like bounty-hunting New Orleans linemen.

Part of my suffering was self-inflicted because I decided to go with the bold choice of jeans. Jeans. About 5 minutes into the moving process my pants were sagging. Once I started profusely sweating it was game over - they were curling off my body. And I was too tired to muster the self-loathing and secure them. Everyone involved in this process should consider themselves blessed; they have no idea how close they came to seeing my butt crack.

Lucky for Kate and Lyle, I have the coping skills of 50’s era housewife. All was immediately forgiven when they broke out the cold beer and bought me a very delicious and large sandwich. Factor in the chemical reaction that took place when the beer met the Benadryl I had taken that morning, and I actually felt like a million bucks for the next 12 hours!