We have had a lot to do this week and have also chosen to lighten the mood even further by watching Chernobyl. I don’t know if you have seen this – we watched it on a DVD that FOW1 had bought for HOH’s birthday because we don’t have SKY. It is really excellent and I highly recommend. It’s not what you would call a laugh a minute but so cleverly done and totally devastating.
The great downsize continues. I have just waved off someone from the back door as they are carting off our chest freezer. (In exchange for forty of your English pounds – no liability accepted). One of the unexpected issues of selling off all the worldly goods we possess (well, at least the ones that won’t fit in the new place), is that, for an introvert, it can be very difficult. First of all, there are the negotiations. I’m not good at this kind of thing. I take every attempt to beat us down as a personal affront. For instance, we advertised a box of 100+ wooden coat hangers for £25 – a massive saving.
We then had a message on Facebook offering to “take them off our hands” for £15.00. My immediate reaction is to reply “Why would we do that? We have had fifteen messages through showing interest! £25 is a massive saving! MASSIVE! If they were for sale at £15 we would have posted them for £15! Donk!” Instead, HOH replied, “No, sorry.” This is obviously infinitely more mature and we have kind of mutually agreed that the member of our partnership with more acceptable social skills will be doing most of this in the future. It’s probably for the best. I think HOH is dreading letting me loose when we do a car boot sale.
Even Aged Parent has been forced into a bit of a clearout. We arrived on Saturday to a tale of falling over and being on the floor for nearly an hour (we worked it out, it was less than five minutes). However, even she realised that she needed to de-clutter a bit as she had gone flying over lots of clutter in her bedroom. Her big weakness is shoes. She loves a shoe. We must have moved ten carrier bags of them – various shapes and, unfortunately, various sizes.
Mum – these are size fives. They are two sizes too big.
They’re good shoes.
That doesn’t matter if they are two sizes too big
I can put a plaster on my heel.
TWO SIZES MUM!
She pulls that face that tells me that she may not be going for this, then HOH who is stoically sorting through the bags shouts from the bedroom. “Also, I can only find one of the pair AP!”
“Well, I suppose if you have to.” This is hissed through pursed lips and we can tell she isn’t happy. As a last gasp attempt, she pulls out a similar shoe.
“This is near enough isn’t it?”
There is then a brief but intense tug of war for the shoe which I win and, trying to muster up a last shred of dignity, I drill the offending shoes down into the rubbish bag. I am convinced that even her favourite mission charity shop will draw the line at odd shoes. AP is still unhappy and only cheers up when I make her a corned beef and tomato barm cake but think we can all relate to that. Have a great week.