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Judgement Day is inevitable.
– Terminator 3

Two days left before the move and I’m sitting in the living room surrounded by boxes, bubble wrap, sheets of cardboard and shreds of packing material. I can’t find anything except dust bunnies. Although thank goodness Husband still manages to locate a screwdriver or glue gun when he needs one. It’s a relief.

The only reason the sofa isn’t packed is that, in my current condition, getting out of a bean bag involves some applied input from Husband to achieve output and frankly he has enough to be getting along with.

Bless him: I have no idea where he finds the energy. In addition to working a full-time job, Andrew has wrapped, stacked and labelled anything not nailed to the floor; transferred it to the upper garage; finalized the house purchase; sold his boat; and yet has still faithfully watched all the All Black’s matches except the one against Canada and even I couldn’t see the point in that unless you were so bored the only alternative was clipping your own toenails.

I’m trying to keep pace with the boxing, but have slowed down a lot in the last couple of weeks – Andrew might say CONVENIENTLY. But really, at the moment, I can wrap about three plates and a coaster before I have to take a nap. Exhaustion seems to accompany spurts of activity from The Asset and for the last while he has been making really quite admirable efforts to kick me in the shins.

However, I did make a major contribution to proceedings by calling every packing company, moving business, freight specialists and guys with vans, trailers and/or wheelbarrows in New Zealand. The cheapest quote for a door-to-door move was $3000 + GST, but we could hire a container in Spring Creek and have it relocated by rail to Oamaru for around $1200 inclusive.

Originally, Andrew planned to ferry our stuff into Spring Creek on a trailer. I was concerned he had underestimated the volume of our possessions, while overestimating the capacity of Sherriff’s trailer (assuming Sherriff allowed us borrow it in the first place). But despite Andrew being more concerned about dust from the gravel road getting into his stereo system, he was undeterred.

This changed after he experienced some twangs out of his back – trying to extricate me from the nether regions of bean bags – and we decided to hire a local moving company to transfer our things from Port Underwood to Spring Creek.

Evidently this plan is imminently sensible as befitting our status-in-transition to responsible parents who file early tax returns; but I’m also optimistic the movers will be beefcake eye-candy with winning smiles and rippling muscles.

Past experience suggests they will more likely be exceedingly sweaty with rippling paunches.

Chances are they’ll also probably grunt inappropriately.

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Comments on: "I could savage a slice of broccoli quiche" (3)

  1. Thank you for the update. I am disturbed by your dietary cravings, distressed by your choice of movies to quote from, and saddened by the mental image of rippling paunches. On the other hand, “Inappropriate Grunting” may be the name of my next RPG character, so thanks also for that.

    I would counsel against letting Andrew cripple himself at this stage. When we were preparing the house for baby Tilly, I twisted my ankle by unlicensed carrying of heavy computer equipment down a bendy staircase, and it’s still not fully healed. I’m terribly afraid I’ll never play scrum-half again.

  2. okay, okay … while it’s perfectly true that Canada is rubbish at rugby, that’s really no reason to rub it in, for gratuitous comedic effect. I’m just saying …

  3. deadlyjelly said:

    Hi Vet! My dietary cravings are indeed disturbing – but I’m thankful I haven’t tucked into bubble wrap or the aloe vera plant yet. In fact I loathed Terminator 3 (I spent the entire movie wishing I were clipping my toenails) but The Rock was advertising it while I wrote this post and the quote seemed apt to my oestrogen-saturated brain. Apologies; and also for the mental image. But in order to know happiness, one must first experience sorrow.

    Forest – hahaha! I’m SO SORRY! I completely forgot my Canadian reader, which after your baked beans recipe is inexcusable. I swear never to slag off Canadian rugby ever again. And see, as a sign of my ongoing goodwill I didn’t even use quotation marks around the word rugby in the previous sentence. Am I forgiven?

    x

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