I neglected to share my moving day experience because, well, it is a tad embarrassing. For a over a month, I had movers scheduled to swap items from my mother’s home to mine. Don’t you love when they give you a window of arrival that keeps you hostage for the day? Super fun. Anyway, my window was between 1-3, which wasn’t ideal, but what’s a girl to do? Well, I decided to go ahead and take a shower. You know where this is going, right?
I had worked out, moved furniture around, and was going to wait until after the moving adventure was complete, but I decided that I would utilize my time wisely. Keep in mind, that it was 2:20 when this epiphany of brilliance sept over me. I hopped in the shower with quick determination and pride over my time management skills, only to be interrupted by a banging on the front door. Shit. Although, in true form, I didn’t say shit. Instead, I enhanced it with my favorite word that rhymes with truck. What would a sane person do in this situation? I suppose that they would rinse their hair, quickly dry off and get dressed. I am not sane. I opted to turn off the shower with soap in my hair, dry off, and stare at myself in the mirror contemplating my next move.
I got dressed, ran to the kitchen to rinse out my hair in the sink, while making sure that the truck was still out there. Then I flee my home as if it were on fire. Please imagine my arms flailing during this psychotic episode. As I greeted them, all of my social cues apparently were washed away in the shower. I vomited a lengthy explanation as to why I was delayed answering the door that they politely listened to while wishing I would shut up. They finished the job under two hours which I can only assume was to get the hell away from me. I assume that my brand of crazy was a bit much.
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