Friday’s move was smooth like imitation butter. Movers Guiseppe (married with a too-tight wedding ring), Monty (drinks Pepsi Blue and once moved JFK, Jr. and Caroline and Andy Warhol and his collection of rare cookie jars) and Jermaine (strong and silent) arrived promptly at 11:00 and were done by 2:00. Four flights of stairs couldn’t slow them down. Every penny I paid them was well spent. I know this because after the movers had gone, Christian and I moved a few stray items. It was not pretty. He was in charge of carting a tall, narrow, pantry-like cabinet, and I had my arms full of other miscellaneous junk and Paquita. We bumped into everything and he had a metal bowl filled with Science Diet Small Bites ding off his head and shower the sidewalk. Yeah, I’ll pay whatever it takes.
Two true tests of friendship: (1) moving large personal objects; and (2) vacationing together. So thank you, Christian. I owe you a trip somewhere. That is, if you’re still talking to me.