We survived. Barely.
Curses were shouted, tears were spilled, hair was pulled, fingers were pointed and doors were slammed. And slammed again just for effect.
I knew going in that the big office move was not for the faint of heart. If you are at all sensitive, if your skin is not 12 layers thick, if words ending in ‘it’ or ‘uck’ or ‘ucker’ or ‘ard’ offend you….our house was definitely not the place to be last weekend. On the plus side, there haven’t been any flaming bags of dog shit on our front step so I’m going to assume that the neighbors didn’t hear the worst of the gong show. OR…maybe we’ve managed to immunize them over the past few years. Either way I should probably take gift baskets to the closest ones.
To add to the chaos, Izzie found out she doesn’t like change any more than The Viking does. People were bitten, things were destroyed, screens and curtains were climbed, legs were scratched and tails were stepped on – at which point cat curses were shouted.
I had a preview of the weekend on Thursday when IKEA delivered the desks and cabinets. Just the sight of all the boxes was enough to send The Viking to Berserkerville. I finally threw him out of the house.
“Oh my Fucking Gawd!! Get out!! Geezus! You’ve lost your fucking mind before we’ve even started!” He looked like he had more to say but he’s never been kicked out of his own house before and was unsure what his next move should be. “OUT!” I pointed to the door in case he forgot where it was. He went, but I have a feeling he will be prepared the next time I try kicking him out of his own house.
To be fair, The Viking knew the hell that was to come while I was just excited. “Let’s do this!!” kind of excited. The kind of excited that mature people want to punch right in the face. I can’t help myself; I can see what it will look like when it’s done and it’s awesome! I know there will be problems along the way but we are smart people and we can find solutions. Right, Team? Except my ‘Team’ is The Viking and he hates me sometimes. Okay, maybe ‘hate’ is too strong a word. ‘Resent’ is probably closer to the truth because he is the one that has to make my dream a reality and he’s no spring chicken.
I was talking with Mim in a Pre-Move Orientation and she suggested I hold out cups of cold water to The Viking like they do for marathon runners. I thought that was a brilliant idea; she certainly didn’t fall far from the vagina! And then I thought I should get a set of tongs and grab pieces of absorbent cotton so I can pat the sweat from his forehead like nurses do for surgeons. After all, he does everything he can to make me happy, it’s the least I can do. Right?
The reality was far from what Mim and I thought it would be though.
“I’m too old for this bullshit! I’m 57 fucking years old! I should be drinking beer on a fucking beach somewhere! What a fucking life! Stupid piece of shit……what the fuck!?…..I hate this shit…..OUCH!!…..asshole fucking shit! Aaaaahhhhhh!!! Stupid…fuck…..get that fucking thing away from my fucking forehead! That’s Bullshit! Oh fuck off!!! The fucking drill bit broke! Piece of shit! We are never doing this again! NEVER!! I will burn the fucking house to the ground before we changed even one more fucking thing! No…I don’t want a fucking cup of water!”
By Sunday evening we were both exhausted. The Viking’s voice was like sandpaper on wood and my back was killing me. Monday morning was a hangover but we hadn’t had the pleasure of getting bombed the day before. Is this what happens when you get old? I didn’t think I was old until The Viking pointed out that we’re on the wrong side of 50 now – him more than me by a significant margin though. If this is what getting old is like, I think it sucks!
BUT….
The office looks amazing! It’s brilliant, really. And now we have a spare room for company. This little house has gone through many changes in the last 9 years. Our needs morphed from one thing to another thing to another thing. It would have been wonderful if, 9 years ago, we knew exactly what we needed today because we could have saved ourselves a ton of money and time. And a lot of creative cursing.
I don’t think I heard him say “come on, you bitch!” to whatever he was moving or banging or clanging! Glad you got your office done. And the creative cursing was just a bonus!
True, he never said that during the whole process. :o) We’re glad the office is finally in place, too. It took us the next two days to recuperate. :o)