It started with me sweating and red-faced at my desk at work. Geo texts and is all "Hey, mind if I play golf until 4:30 or so?"
[Internal monologue: YES I MIND. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE AT MY BECK AND CALL.]
In real life I wrote, "That's fine."
Typical chick...passive aggressive, but accommodating. Anyway, I wiped the sweat from my brow and figured "Play your golf today, little man, but after that? YOU'RE MINE." Then he came back at me with "Tomorrow, your brother and I are going to move all the big stuff so you can organize your clothes and shoes or whatever. And I'm bringing your bathroom stuff so you can get that set up. I know you love that kind of stuff."
Eeeee! I do!!!!!! If I weren't already planning to marry this guy, I'd start right now.
So yeah, he's awesome. But first we had to get through Night One of moving. I came home from signing my lease, changed into moving clothes and got to work complaining about how heavy everything is and how nothing will fit because I forgot how small the apartment is. He sighed - you see, he had already carried all the stuff I packed down from my upstairs room and up from the basement. With no complaints.
Okay, so we move box after box into my tiny car. He opened my trunk to discover I haven't exactly emptied that out since my LAST move. He's all "Well, we can't really use this." I could taste his disappointment.
On the two car trips to the new pad, Geo had 400 heart attacks. My driving skills deteriorate significantly when I can't see out of any of my windows, apparently. Finally - and safely! - we get to the apartment and start hauling stuff up. He was pleasantly surprised with my place, considering how much I'd been talking about how small it is.
So he did all the heavy lifting while I complained about how I didn't know whether to put wine glasses or food in my cupboards. Then I complained about how sweaty he was and he decided to
Was tonight a success? Sure. If "success" means getting all my non-essentials to an apartment while Geo toes the line with cardiac failure.