Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Ends and odds
First the ends,
For my Republican friends,
And now the freakin’ odds.
For we’re moving this weekend
(What a pain in the rear end!)
Not lounging like lazy old sods.
Yes, we’re changing our digs
We’ll be squealing like pigs
Cuz that’s how much we love U-Haul.
That’s a lie actually
I drive trucks into trees
And low-slung concrete garage walls.*
Karen’s learned from experience
To keep me at a distance
From lifting and driving and sharp stuff.**
What I do best is opine
And occasionally whine
While the movers do all the hard puff-puff.
Our first home we’ve remodelled
But we must have been addled
To think we could do it on budget.
No countertops or floor covers
Bathrooms still ugly buggers
And yet we’re near broke. Oh, fudge it!
It tires me to the bone
To abandon this home
Even if it’s to go to one better.
Only one silver lining —
Stopping most of my whining —
We left all of our really good porn there.
D.
*Karen swears I have driven trucks without crashing them into concrete beams or tree branches, but I have no memory of such successes.
**Once, while unpacking, I shaved off half a fingertip on broken glass. Ever hear the saying, “Humans have no memory for pain”? Bullcrap. I remember every second of that experience. My favorite part: the way every last paramedic and nurse had to unwrap my finger to look at the damages. That hurt.
Oh, cry me a river. I’m still living under construction, and probably will be for another 5 years, no matter what the Y chromosome assures.
X
Eh, you don’t know what a slob I am. The lack of countertops and floor covers is an effin disaster. We’ll be able to look at the floor and map out the entire last year’s menu. What did we have for Karen’s birthday? Look! There’s some of it by the back door!
Good luck, Doug, and for some reason it pleases me immensely to know you’re a slob at heart (and it means I can invite you to my house anytime ;o))
Oh, moving is such a royal pain! I hate everything about it, from the packing to the unpacking and everything in between. Worst of all is having to keep the house pristinely clean while it’s on the market (and having complete strangers tramp through it, judging our little domain). Ugh. Of course, those brief, elusive periods of my Super-Sanitized-Suzy-Homemaker-ish behavior are when my husband loves me best. LOL
I’m a packrat and when we moved across the country from Chicago to Portland OR a few years ago the majority of our whopping bill from the movers was because of all the “precious junque†that I simply couldn’t part with, like the hundreds of books in my collection (very heavy). I was not my husband’s favorite person for a while after that expensive little fiasco, which left us deep in debt. :-0
Loved your poem, Doug. Best of luck on your move, and much happiness in your new home!
Moving is a pain in the arse, but at least you have a moving crew to help.
Liked the poem too, very funny.
my word verification: poted
Thanks, everyone. Tonight I’m getting a bit tipsy to celebrate Fitzmas. Woo-hoo! The dogs are dead.
(No, I won’t get drunk — I despise the sensation. Two glasses of wine will do me just fine.)