If all my career aspirations come to naught, I can rest easy in the knowledge that I would make a jim dandy furniture removalist.
see my bulging biceps
Sister Dear’s Husband is about to start a new chapter in his career, which involves them relocating in Noosa in a few weeks time. They are planning on renting out their HUGE 5 bedroom house and rent a smaller 3 or 4 bedroom place up closer to his new job. This is all well and good, except now they face the predicament of too much furniture to cram into an itty-bitty house.
When I was living with them up until a few weeks ago, I was using their old bedroom suite which I love, and which I have been missing fiercely since I moved out 2 weeks ago. So when I got a call asking if I wanted to take it off their hands, I was only too happy to agree. Saturday morning saw Housemate toddle off to work and me, armed with a screw driver and an allen key taking apart the futon that I’d been sleeping on. I was doing spiffingly until I got to the actual taking apart when I realised that the tools that I had access to were un suited to doing the job that I was faced with.
harbinger of doom
Not to be foiled by lack of tools, I took apart what I could and then proceeded to try to wriggle the monstrous contraption out of my bedroom, into the bathroom, back into my bedroom, around into Housemate’s bedroom, halfway over the balustrade, back into the bathroom, then finally up on its end, over the balustrade, down the stairs and out the front door all by myself. FUN!
Cue Little Brother and Sister Dear’s Husband arriving with the bedroom suite. Now I don’t brag at having an over abundance of muscle mass. While on the slightly taller side of average and in no way willowy, I am still sadly lacking in anything that can be seen as brawn. So Brother in law who has shoulders like an ox and Little Brother who cycles around the country in his spare time were lovely enough to carry my queen size mattress and the bed base up the stairs and into my room for me. I waited for them to continue with the rest of the furniture until I realised that chivalry was dead and buried and my strapping relations had no intention of taking the rest of the furniture any further than the entryway.
Any sane, muscle lacking female would wait for someone else to get home to help with the carting of heavy furniture upstairs. Not me. If there is something that I want done now, I can’t sit about watching Saturday daytime television while it needs doing. I cart the rest of the bed upstairs, take up my trusty allen key and 45 minutes later, a bedraggled, sweaty and unhappy Clare sits looking at a bed. Phase 1 of bedroom set up is complete.
Clare post-bed building
Next on the agenda is the chest of drawers and the dressing table. I carry the empty drawers up the stairs and pile them haphazardly in the bathtub, then go back for the rest of it. I must say it was not one of my finer moments and I am so thankful that no-one was there to witness my efforts. I grab hold of the end of the bloomin’ thing, shinny it around to the base of the stair case and then sitting on the step above, haul it up a step. Then I shuffle up another step and haul again, and again and again and again, untill I reach the top, over the balustrade and into the bedroom.
The dressing table was not so big as the drawers but sports a whopping big mirror. I managed to wrangle the darn thing off with a screwdriver and a hatchet and then repeated the sit and haul technique untill the dresser was in place as well. Screw what was left of the mirror back on and she’s apples.
After that it was only 20 more trips with odds and ends and bed side tables and I was done. All of this done all on me onesie without leaving any structural damage to either myself, the house or the furniture (excluding the hatchet mirror). I am in a world of hurt at the moment. I can’t move my arms or feel my legs but the next time I see my good for nothing brother and brother-in-law I am going to give them several prickly pieces of my mind. Consider yourselves warned boys.