Wrecking ball...
Daughter number one is heading back home for a few months while her bijoux residence is jigged about by the husband. I'll be honest with you, I'm not too sure who is more excited about the impending building work. Daughter number one with her pictures of kitchens and fabric swatches, or the husband who keeps muttering under his breath about removable walls. The plan is to create an extra bedroom from the many cupboards the flat has. This is good news as far as I am concerned, as once it's finished, the husband and I are planning to have a sleepover, switching the heating on high, turning all the lights on, and then opening the windows as it's too hot. Payback time beckons at last.
So she sent me a message yesterday, saying that she had started moving her stuff in, but wouldn't be moving in till Sunday. Now Lady H (she of the dynamic dusters capable of removing a lifetime of dust bunnies) was here yesterday while daughter number one was hefting boxes of stuff (crap) up the stairs. I am hoping that she wiped her shoes each time she came in from the car, as Lady H has extremely high standards, and is not a woman to be trifled with.
A further message was received saying that the empty wardrobe, three drawers, bathroom cabinet and bedside table were not enough to cope with her possessions. Various items had been farmed out to the siblings' wardrobes and drawers and even the husband got a small pile of his own. The strange thing was, that most of what she gave him was actually his.
I can't tell you how many times I have been blamed for the disappearance of his cycling shorts a year ago. Lo and behold, there they were, neatly folded on the husband's side of the bed, the pile topped with an empty headphone case and a Go-Pro. I did think about hiding the shorts (they are not the most forgiving garment the husband has in his wardrobe) but as she had included him in the message, that particular ship had sailed.
She had left by the time I got back from work. A quick look in the dogs' bedroom (which used to be daughter number two's and soon will be daughter number one's) confirmed that she had made herself at home. In fact, she'd even gone so far as to fill the laundry basket with dirty clothes. She'll be expecting them to be washed, ironed and hung up by the time she moves in on Sunday.
She won't be disappointed...
So she sent me a message yesterday, saying that she had started moving her stuff in, but wouldn't be moving in till Sunday. Now Lady H (she of the dynamic dusters capable of removing a lifetime of dust bunnies) was here yesterday while daughter number one was hefting boxes of stuff (crap) up the stairs. I am hoping that she wiped her shoes each time she came in from the car, as Lady H has extremely high standards, and is not a woman to be trifled with.
A further message was received saying that the empty wardrobe, three drawers, bathroom cabinet and bedside table were not enough to cope with her possessions. Various items had been farmed out to the siblings' wardrobes and drawers and even the husband got a small pile of his own. The strange thing was, that most of what she gave him was actually his.
I can't tell you how many times I have been blamed for the disappearance of his cycling shorts a year ago. Lo and behold, there they were, neatly folded on the husband's side of the bed, the pile topped with an empty headphone case and a Go-Pro. I did think about hiding the shorts (they are not the most forgiving garment the husband has in his wardrobe) but as she had included him in the message, that particular ship had sailed.
She had left by the time I got back from work. A quick look in the dogs' bedroom (which used to be daughter number two's and soon will be daughter number one's) confirmed that she had made herself at home. In fact, she'd even gone so far as to fill the laundry basket with dirty clothes. She'll be expecting them to be washed, ironed and hung up by the time she moves in on Sunday.
She won't be disappointed...
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