Organized Crime

Just before 8 AM this morning, the Packer Dudes were obnoxiously ringing our doorbell. Yeah, I know they said they drop by any time between 8 and 5 to pick up our first shipment, but did I really think they'd be at my door at the buttcrack of dawn?

No, I did not.

As evident by the fact that I was still in bed perfectly happy to stay that way until the sun actually made an appearance. Which it does not until way after 8 in Belgium when the date is close to the Winter Solstice.

But, the Packer Dudes were all up and at 'em at dark-thirty, demanding that I at least be out of bed & scrambling to find towels at the last minute. OK, so I forgot to prior plan a 12-hour laundry routine & only had a load ready to go into the dryer. Which would have worked out perfectly if they had not showed up at 8. By 10, I would have been a little more chipper & the towels would have been dry.

No problem, I was just a little rushed & slightly unprepared this morning.

That would be just like any other morning.

What was unpleasant for me, was worse for the girls. The teens (Laze-E & Miss Wyoming) were only 4 hours into their "night" of sleep & I had the pleasure of waking them up as I barked orders for them to throw the comforter up over their heads so the Chief Packer Dude could survey the room for the big moving day next week.

They were beyond thrilled.

As expressed by their verbal pleasantries.

Just another day in PCS Hell.

But, do you want to know what was the icing on the proverbial cake? Let me tell you. I was down in the basement with Man while the Chief Packer Dude looked around at what needed to be crated next week. He did his official survey, then wildly waved his arm, his whole arm, and asked if we could organize all this before they returned on Tuesday.

Man quickly replied that it wasn't going to happen today.

I kept my mouth shut.

What I wanted to do was lash out & let bitch reign supreme.

Instead, I took the high road & only managed a pleasant HausFrau smile.

Complete with eyelash flutters.

In an all out effort to be totally passive aggressive, I'm not doing anything to organize anything unless it specifically benefits me. I've already cleared out a lot of plain old trash & I've got boxes ready for the Consignment Shop for when Subourbon HausFrau reopens the Shop next Tuesday.

Beyond that . . . if I say they can kiss my ass, you'll understand, won't you?

Hello?! It's the packers' jobs to organize for me. They start packing my crap into boxes and Wah-La! it's all neatly organized into nice, tight cardboard boxes, completely labeled and inventoried. Then they put it on a crate & I don't have to deal with it until sometime in February.

That's how God & the Army intended. And, that's how it's going to be.

Thankfully, Cheif Packer Dude had the decency not to mention how I needed to dust or vacuum before next week. Had he made that mistake, I fear where my vacuum cleaner and Pledge may have ended up.

On a lighter note, Miss Wyoming's Mom was more than happy to tell me where to find a nice, fat Rx of Chill Pills tomorrow . . . and, Man said he'd be more than happy to drive me to the clinic.

Thanks, Babe. I'd do the same for you.

Wait a minute.

You think they would give us His & Hers monogramed bottles?

Now, that's the way to PCS.