Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- No, no, no, a thousand times, no Just got off the phone after a *lovely* (insert exasperated eyeroll here) conversation with now-ex-roommate's mom. She's one of those types that considers herself forthright and honest and a "straight shooter," by which she means that she believes she can be as tactless as she likes because she's warned you ahead of time. It's rather like the rattle on a rattlesnake, when you think about it. Thankfully, the phone call was cordial, but we're basically going to be treated as if we weren't in the house anymore. She's shut off the cable tv (expected), and the phone (unexpected) and has scheduled a painting and carpeting of the first floor, which means that we will have to move all the boxes we've staged there to another location - probably my mom's garage. It makes things a much larger pain in the ass, especially as we hoped to spread the move-in over a day or so. Not gonna happen - she wants to put the house up for sale ASAP, meaning she wants us out in toto on the 20th. I am determined to grit my teeth and put up with all this as best as I can, without incurring any more lectures from the woman. Bemo got indignant and said that there would be no lecturing, because if there was, he'd tell her to step off - I promptly began beating my head against my desk and moaning, "No, no, no, that's not what I mean at all, and that'll make things worse, and I'll get phone calls at work from this woman informing me as to how rude my husband is and then I'll have to commit suicide using my letter opener and that would not be a good thing." THIS MOVE WILL BE DRAMA-FREE OR I WILL KILL MYSELF. I'm already worried about the money, so any other burdens - real or imposed - will not be tolerated. I will grow an ulcer at this rate. 4:12 p.m. - 2004-03-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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