“The best laid schemes of mice and men go oft awry.” -Robert Burns
The early morning sun streamed in through my windows. The removed curtains, once curtailing the eager sun’s effort, forced my eyelids to fend for themselves. It was moving day.
As many of you are well aware, I have this unabashed adoration for moving. A year ago, my apartment was selected within my first two hours of moving to this city. This time it would be different! With diligence and about three months, I toured the town looking for perfection and my selection turned to be beyond my wildest dreams! Much align with my life 100% of the time, I entered the moving situation naively and figured my overused statement wouldn’t become realized.
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
Don’t toy with that question; lesson learned.
- My slew of volunteers of manly men, friends, and family dwindled down quickly on that day. I realize the idea of moving your friends is hellish and no one honestly wants to do it, but back to that childish hope of serendipity and everything working out… those best laid plans…
There would be three people. Three.
Me. My bestie here named Julianna (weighing in at maybe 100 lbs?). And her mother.
It wasn’t soon after seeing Zooey going crazy that Julianna’s mom offered her house for me to drop off my dog. Zooey loves it there and gets to roll around with eleven other dogs… so naturally I thought it to be a swell plan.
Then my phone rang.
Zooey ran away.
It was about this time I also realized I had moved all day and forgotten to eat anything aside from my breakfast of greek yogurt. My stomach started verbalizing the riot against me. Hunger pains always feel strongest when you recognize them.
This kind individual brought me a salad and promptly made me a homemade margarita to celebrate the move. Zooey finally calmed down and was passed out in no time.