Dave and I have been moving into our new little abode this past weekend. The day we contrived would be best to move the junk I own into the apartment was last Thursday, when it was only expected to drizzle a bit in the evening. The drizzle turned into a monsoon by early evening.
Dave and Chris managed to stuff my queen size mattress and box spring into the back of his dad’s truck with little effort and no rainfall. However, once we reached the Cuyahoga Valley, the clouds let out their woes and soaked them into my mattress, which one would have believed to be safe in the bed of truck with a cover. Nope.
Luckily, the next few days were relatively dry. Dry in the valley means that the stench from the compost plant and water treatment center for the city is not wafting down river to our apartment complex. I knew the consequences, but the river is a beautiful view from the porch.
Boxes and leather furniture made a smooth journey with the help of friends, without whom we would not have been able to carry a leather couch up two and a half flights of stairs. Thankfully, Dave has gorilla-like friends with about the same sort of reasoning when it came to placing the full-size sofa on the back of one person while the other’s supported him. I barely breathed as I peered through my hands, witnessing the craziness.
I haven’t had a roommate in over three years and I have never actually resided with someone other than a female. I have to admit it’s a little weird. But there is something perfect about creeping around early in the morning to avoid waking him up while I get ready for work.
I don’t think I could put myself in a happier situation without winning the lottery.