Five years ago, I packed everything that the girls and I owned and moved in with The Man. It wasn't a huge ordeal, simply because I had moved two years prior and as a single parent, didn't make a lot of purchases in those two years. It was still a big emotional move, since the wounds of divorce hadn't formed ugly scar tissue yet. They were at times still fresh, gaping wounds and reminders of failure. But, I had no regrets and was head-over-heels, flat out crazy about The Man. Still there are always issues. (Eye-rolling and heavy sighing...)
Now that the train of thought has definitely derailed...
After some thoughtful conversations and determination from The Man that he spent every night at the cabin I was renting while making a mortgage payment on a house that was TWO MILES AWAY, he invited us to move into his house. God help the poor bachelor, for he knows not what he does. He knowingly invited three females into the mancave. Two of the above mentioned females were under the age of eleven and prone to shrieking, squealing and whining. I, on the other hand, rarely do this. *Ahem*
So, after boxing up my life and driving it TWO MILES DOWN THE ROAD, I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I gutted his house. Literally. Within two months I had stripped the kitchen down to the subfloors and waterlines. I ripped up carpet and stripped the wallpaper off in the bedrooms. We painted, sanded, purchased and installed our way through the next three months. And through all this, his blood pressure barely raised. But...(isn't there always a but?)
Four days after moving in, I sold all his furniture.
Yes, you heard me right. Here's how it went down (according to my memory. Which may be faulty. I blame the bourbon.)
Me: Welcome home from your hard day's work dear. Here's your slippers and pipe.
Man: What the fuck?
Me: Dinner is on the table and I will give you a back massage as soon as you're finished eating. Can I get you a beer?
Man: Growl, rant, mumble, growl. Where is the table? And the sofa? And my chair and TV?
Me: I have thoughtfully sold all your furniture to a needy family of orphans and turned quite the profit. You may spend the proceeds at your leisure.
Man: What the fuck?
Me: Get over it, dude. My stuff is way better.
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