Wherever in the world, whether it be 2 minutes up the road or a bonkers 11,000 miles away like us - moving in day is always the same.
You function on a modus operandi that is unique to moving in day and that day only. There's none other like it.
Hair is scraped back, the makeup bag is by-passed and you opt for comfy practical clothing and sensible shoes.
First job always is to put the fridge on.
Second job, whilst you are waiting for that huge white lorry to arrive, that will most certainly block the street and annoy the hell out of your neighbours, is to pop that bottle in to chill.
.........cos you know the hell you are going to need it later.
Never at any other time have you needed alcohol more than on moving in day.
The Gobi Desert could have frozen over and polar bears could be walking the streets of Hull.
You are oblivious. Moving in day is all about doing and nothing about being and the outside world is a blur.
It's you and the boxes, the boxes and you and mountains of stuff!
Without any verbal confirmation, the unwritten rule is adhered to.
You sort the kitchen and he deals with anything that has a wire, plug, internet connection or needs programming.
No-one wants to tackle clothes or linen.
You forget to eat and when you do, its junk, you don't taste it, its just belly-filler.
You take turns to stub your toes, trap your fingers and wrestle stubbornly with masking tape.
Thoughts frequently turn to the bottle in the fridge.
You catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror and reel back in horror! That ashen, spotty, blotchy, "moving in day" face.
You always overdo it.
Over that longed for glass of wine, you admit to one another, that you've overdone it.
...............and sometimes the only solution that works at that point, is to bury your head deep into his chest and have a good, hearty cry.
And that my dear friends is moving in day isn't it?
You function on a modus operandi that is unique to moving in day and that day only. There's none other like it.
Hair is scraped back, the makeup bag is by-passed and you opt for comfy practical clothing and sensible shoes.
First job always is to put the fridge on.
Second job, whilst you are waiting for that huge white lorry to arrive, that will most certainly block the street and annoy the hell out of your neighbours, is to pop that bottle in to chill.
.........cos you know the hell you are going to need it later.
Never at any other time have you needed alcohol more than on moving in day.
The Gobi Desert could have frozen over and polar bears could be walking the streets of Hull.
You are oblivious. Moving in day is all about doing and nothing about being and the outside world is a blur.
It's you and the boxes, the boxes and you and mountains of stuff!
Without any verbal confirmation, the unwritten rule is adhered to.
You sort the kitchen and he deals with anything that has a wire, plug, internet connection or needs programming.
No-one wants to tackle clothes or linen.
You forget to eat and when you do, its junk, you don't taste it, its just belly-filler.
You take turns to stub your toes, trap your fingers and wrestle stubbornly with masking tape.
Thoughts frequently turn to the bottle in the fridge.
You catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror and reel back in horror! That ashen, spotty, blotchy, "moving in day" face.
 |
| "Hello there! Yes we are looking for the bottle opener, any ideas which box its in?" |
 |
| "Don't worry, leave it to me I'll find it!" |
 |
"Erm no Hubster, leave the finer detail to me, there's a washing machine to plumb in"      |
Over that longed for glass of wine, you admit to one another, that you've overdone it.
...............and sometimes the only solution that works at that point, is to bury your head deep into his chest and have a good, hearty cry.
And that my dear friends is moving in day isn't it?
Well done Debbie ....
ReplyDeleteand I can bet the wine has been emptied by now and there are still boxes to put away ... right?
Once you settle in and had a good cry, all will be alright with the world ... and this time next year? I guess you will look back on this weekend and say:
We did it!
one step at a time ... thats all it takes. :)
Thank you Leone, you are so right, one little step at a time, although Hubster did have to do the Aussie thing and buy a BBQ! Seeing Radish on Tuesday, home is not home without the lad! Thank you for posting x
ReplyDelete