Saturday, February 11, 2012

Whistle While You Work...

Or if you live in our house, yell the f word...a lot.

When I was in the beginning phase of any relationship, the true test of whether it was going to work out was the first long road trip. Somewhere along the line I was told that if you make it through a really long trip together and were still hot for each other, the stars were aligned forever in your favor. You must be meant to be. Joe and I survived that hurdle without incident. Our biggest issue was that I didn't appreciate Ratt and Tesla.

Now that we are doing minor renovations to the condo before we have to put it up on the market, I'm starting to suspect that the road trip is nothing, and I am ever-thankful that the house repairs and touch ups we are doing are nothing more major. Between keeping the cats out of the wet paint, wrestling with twisted nails, and rescuing me from a persistent cockroach that has climbed out of our sink drain three times (apparently merely turning the faucet on did not do the trick), Joe has had his patience tested.

It involved yelling bad words. Repeatedly. I heard cats stampeding away from him. I made the mistake of turning and asking what was wrong. My bad. This part of prepping the house is perhaps his most frustrating, but you see, I know the worst is yet to come. Because the milestone in a relationship after the First Long Road Trip is Moving Day. And once it's time to stage the house, we'll have a mini-move as we pare down all our personals. And then a move to a temporary domicile once we have sold, and finally our ultimate move to our dream house. Which will be a nightmare until we actually get settled in because if you were counting, that's a minimum of three moving days.

Which makes me want to swear. A lot.