I had this really witty idea while driving home from Bloomington (aka riding shotgun in Dad’s truck, RIP: My Butt) about doing the “12 Stages of Moving Out Of Your First Apartment” a la the 12 Steps of Addiction… But then I felt it would not be politically correct and/or would be insensitive. Or I just felt so superior about the whole thing (and my amazing comedic skills) that I didn’t feel the need to write the idea down, and promptly forgot all of my thoughts.
So instead, I present:
12 Thoughts While of Moving Out of Your First Apartment
1. I hate cleaning.
2. Movers. Now I understand why this industry flourishes.
3. I don’t think I’ll ever get the smell of bleach out of my clothes/hair/hands/skin/nose.
4. Also, maid service. That is also a profession that needs more appreciation. Maid Parade?
5. I really should’ve made housekeeping a bigger priority when I lived here. There is no reason there needs to be THIS much dust on baseboard. And how does dust even collect on walls? It’s a vertical surface. Shouldn’t gravity have taken care of that?*
6. When in the HELL did I purchase a cake stand?! (But really. WHY in the world did I have a glass cake stand? I vaguely remember purchasing it at the GoodWill before moving in, thinking I would be super cute and domestic, and have all this time after classes, studying, working, sorority commitments, and Congress to do things like BAKE A F’ING CAKE. Goodness gracious.)
7. Who cares if it’ll get scratched? Shove all the furniture on the trailer, strap it down and let’s go. Did I mention how under appreciated moving/packing services are? Such a great and noble profession.
8. Why did I not buy booze for this?
9. I’d really like to take a shower, but all my towels are cushioning my shot glasses, and coffee mugs. So like… Priorities.
10. I really hate cleaning.
11. Maybe if I shove toothpaste into the nail holes in my walls, they won’t notice them during the move-out inspection. (HINT: IT TOTALLY WORKED, everyone needs to try this. YOU’RE WELCOME!)
12. Shit. This means I officially live with Mom again, doesn’t it?
Final thoughts? Say it with me again now: Mo-ving Ser-vice.