Ok. So. Thank goodness for good hand trucks. Let me say that up front.
Sweetie wrangled the washer and dryer down into the basement today, with very little drama. At first.
While he was hooking up the hot and cold and all that, I said, "Wanna hear what happened to me yesterday?"
"Why, yes, I do." Always the gentleman.
"I was on the couch, resting a bit, solving a sudoku. Princess was next to me, and I think the cats were around, and I heard a whump/clunk from somewhere in the house. I sat up and listened. Princess was awake but was fine and not alarmed, so I just figured it came from next door or something.
A little later, I went into the downstairs bath. I had taken a shower earlier and closed the doors and hung the towel up. So I went into the bathroom and the shower door was open and the towel was on the floor."
Without skipping a beat, he said, "Okay, let me tell you my little story. Last Saturday, as I was taking some of the bed parts upstairs? I felt like something tugged twice on them from behind, and I looked back and there was nothing. And nothing that should have caused it, either."
"But I don't feel anything bad here, and Princess and the cats weren't freaked out."
"I don't feel anything bad here, either."
So I said, loudly, to nobody in particular down in the basement, "Cut that shit out, you hear me?"
I didn't grow up with sort of stuff. He did.
