*Shake* your head moments

Handle with Care

The joy of moving… I know that there’s no joy in moving. It’s a bitch

The organizing, labeling, wrapping, boxing, etc. Moving is one of those life experiences that we all wish we didn’t have to experience. I don’t know if I’ve spoken to anyone who has said the following, “I love moving! It’s a blast!” Unfortunately it’s something that has to be done once or a few times in life.

I was looking forward to moving into my own place. I’d no longer have a roomie. It would be just me, myself, and Teddy. There would be quiet in my home. My home would be clean. My home would no longer have random strangers coming in and out of it. 

My father is happy. Isn’t it every parents dream to have their child move into their own space? It’s that sense of success. 

I decided I could do the move myself. There was no need to hire a moving company. Bunny has got this! I’m an organizer. I can handle all of the packing and moving of small items and boxes. The only items I would need help with moving are large pieces of furniture. 

So, it took me a little over a month to organize, pack and move by myself. I’ll admit it was a long month. Every day I’d pack a few boxes and take them with me to my new place. This way I wouldn’t overwhelm myself at the last minute. All of the boxes would be at my new home. 

Three days before my lease was up the only items left in my shared space with roomie were large pieces of furniture and two boxes.

I was so proud of myself! I set my goal, I rocked it! I had a friend or two offer to move a few boxes for me which I took them up on. But in the end I did the majority of it. I had an great sense of pride. Also, there are certain items every girl doesn’t want anyone to know she possesses… if you’re asking yourself what items I’m speaking of then you need to go back and refresh your memory with some of my other posts. Then you’ll be good to go.

My father has graciously agreed to help me move large pieces of furniture. Between he and I, his truck, and a couple of runs we’ll get it done. No moving company needed. The money that was saved by not hiring professionals was my wine money. Trust me when I tell all of you when you move yourself vino is a necessity and some ice cream thrown in every once and a while. Don’t get between a Bunny and her Ben & Jerry’s, you’ll get hurt.

I told my dad he could move everything BUT the two boxes. I’d handle those on my own. I left for a few minutes I come back, the boxes are gone. I turn around, lo and behold guess who has the boxes. Dad has them in his hands. I told him I didn’t need him to move the boxes. He said it a just two boxes I can handle them. 

Fathers…. They just don’t listen sometimes. Dads always think they know best. Even if they end up in the hospital because they almost fell thru the ceiling from the attic, twice. But it’s okay. Because they fixed the ceiling so it’s all good. Just get a large enough flag to cover the area, problem solved!

Fifteen minutes later, I see him carrying the two boxes again. He’s walking. 

Suddenly the world went into slow motion. My father doesn’t see the tree root. His foot hits the tree root. He and the box go flying into the air. OH SHIT!

By the time I get outside, he and my brother are standing looking at the grass. The grass now has neon colored objects scattered everywhere. My brother turns to me and says, “You’re fucked.” My father picks up a neon object, looks perplexed, turns and asks me, “What is this exactly?”

Innner monologue moment: FUCK MY LIFE!!!!!!! 

How do you explain to your conservative Greek father that the item he is currently holding in his hand is for enhanced sexual pleasure? Let me answer that question, you can’t. You’re just FUCKED!

I tell him it’s none of his business. I’m tossing everything back in the box as quickly as possible. My brother is laughing hysterically. I’m telling him to shut up!

Then suddenly I hear a noise…

One of the objects is vibrating at the bottom of the box. FUCKING HELL! I can’t win. My dad asks, “What is that?” I tell him it’s a massage object. My brother can’t stop laughing. I give him the eat shit and die, because you better stop laughing look. My father looks at me. I tell him this is why I told you NOT to touch the boxes! Why couldn’t you just leave the boxes alone!!! Ugh!

Then my father says, “You still haven’t answered my questions.” I reply,“I’m a grown woman and I don’t have to answer every question you ask me.” I turn to my brother, point to the boxes. He sees the look on my face. He ceases laughing and picks up the boxes. My brother puts them in my car and shuts it. Finally problem fucking solved.

My dad says, “Well since you’ve got so many massagers, do you mind if I borrow one? My back has been bothering me lately. It might help. Especially after moving the furniture.” I shake my head, turn around, and hop in my car. I tell my dad I’ll get him a spa certificate. Because he can’t handle the type of massagers I use…

Saying: Moving was a GREAT idea until I started packing!!!


20 thoughts on “Handle with Care

  1. I’m sorry but hahahahaha…that has made my night. I only laugh because I have experienced something similar, it wasn’t funny at the time but reading this reminded me of that and it is too funny now. Glad you got moved and hope you create lots of great memories in your new place 🙂 God Bless

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I can understand why you didn’t move those until last, but… you have two entire large boxes of them? That is impressive on many levels. What a nightmare, though. Even before your brother, I would imagine.

    Having said that, you are entertaining and funny as always, and I enjoy everything you write. Thank you!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I wish I could write like you!! GREAT story and oh so perfect. Parents have no need knowing what their kids are doing. I am in my 50’s and mom STILL bitches at me about what I am doing. I think she’d have kittens if she saw anything in my teeny small pink bag (not quite up to one or two boxes yet). I am nervous that the stupid TSA went thru them……..

    Liked by 1 person

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