I would have been happy to live in this house for the rest of my life.
Not because it was perfect.
Not because it was in the best location.
Not because it was in an awesome neighborhood. (Although, it is in the most awesome neighborhood.)
No, I would have lived in this house the rest of my life because...I HATE MOVING.
Do I look like I'm not lazy?
We've been tremendously blessed with the house we're moving into. Unable to find a home that Brett and I could both agree on, or, when we did, have that house ripped from underneath our greedy paws, we decided to rent a house until we could buy a house.
Well, that, and this house fell into our laps with a pretty price tag.
So here we are, blessed with our new abode, only minutes from our crappy apartment. And while it's nice that we don't have to rent one big truck to haul all of our crap, it still sucks to move.
Now I'm at a crossroads. Will he or won't he get help this Saturday? Will he or won't he rent a truck? Will he or won't he be getting laid? KIDDING. Trying to get the man-cub to do any of these organizational tasks is worse than ripping out Cohen's second loose tooth (oh please, won't you please just fall out?!)
I've lugged everything over that my weak little arms could carry, and now we live in skeleton bones at the apartment. I want to just take it all and let the rest stay here, but I can't carry, nor live without the following: my bed, the TV, food, my computer, and the internet. And couches. And my rocking chair. I need my big strong man to rally other big strong men and a truck to move most of my beloved items (that enable the laziness.)
I cannot. Live. Without these things.
So wish me luck as I endeavor to get Brett to make plans. Actually, if you could sacrifice a few lambs on my behalf, that would be awesome.