All of Angie’s family is coming up to Shreveport this weekend, to help us move out some furniture and rearrange what’s left. I like to believe that I can look at the glass and see it both half-full AND half-empty, and there are definitely pros and cons to this situation.
Pros – Angie’s dad is bringing a desk, and I will finally have a home office. Now I get to waste time but look like I’m actually doing something important.
Cons – Angie’s dad is also bringing the rest of her family to help.
It’s not that there’s anything particularly wrong with Angie’s family. They’re all good people, with the occasional screwball that every family has. If we look at extended family, mine’s a lot crazier than hers. It’s just that, when you get that many related people together under one roof, to do what should amount to two hours’ worth of work, somebody ends up with their feelings hurt, or with a fork sticking out of their eye. It’s inevitable.
Everyone has their own theory when it comes to moving furniture. Some people believe the heaviest stuff should be moved first, while others believe you should warm up to it by moving the lightest. Some people use those neat little furniture sliders that you put under table legs, and some don’t mind that their hardwood floors are scratched beyond repair. All theories, however, can be boiled down into one thought process:
“Let the other guy do all the heavy lifting.”
We want to look like we’re doing the most work, sure. “Look at me, honey, I am every bit the stud you married twenty years ago!” “All this heavy moving sure does make me work up a sweat!” “Here, let me get that for you!” And we run around, looking like we’re doing work, while the brother-in-law has to back a half-ton china cabinet down a flight of loose stairs.
Well, the brother-in-law certainly doesn’t like that! “Why do I have to do all the heavy lifting?” he asks, and then he starts to pretend he’s doing work, too. He may become the supervisor of the group, orchestrating all the heavy lifting, without actually having to lift a finger. “Take that corner slowly, that entertainment stand’s top-heavy!” he’ll cheerfully shout while drinking beer. “Watch out for the top of the door jamb!” And now, whoever he’s shouting out orders to, probably me, is going to start getting mad. So I’ll begin supervising, keeping the chain going until there’s nobody moving anything but Angie and Ema. The rest of us will start arguing over who’s doing a better job pretending to lift heavy furniture.
All that arguing is going to raise tensions when we actually get around to rearranging the furniture we have left. No two people can agree on where furniture belongs in a room. Angie and I disagree on it, but I have the sense to keep my mouth shut before I’m forced to sleep on the couch I thought should be placed on the wall facing the dining room. Everyone else gets to go home and sleep in their own beds, so they can throw common sense out the window. And if nobody is willing to agree on just one piece of furniture, two whole rooms of it are going to cause real arguments. For instance, we have a beautiful buffet table that has served as a TV stand for two years now. I think it really accents the raggedness of our couch, but Angie wants it in the dining room. Let me give an example of how this is going to play out:
Angie: The buffet table is going in the dining room.
Me: Okay.
Angie’s Mom: But it’s so nice in the living room. It hides all the dirt you can’t be bothered to sweep from under it!
Me: So it stays…
Angie: I don’t want it in the living room, there’s no room for it. And Pete does a good job of sweeping!
Me: Okay, let’s move it.
Angie’s Mom: You make him do all the cleaning while you get to sit around and watch TV. It must be nice to not lift a finger.
Me: I really don’t mind…
Angie: I’m PREGNANT! Pete WANTS to do all that for me!
Me: It’s true, I want her off her feet…
Angie’s Mom: But he did all that before you got pregnant! You’re just lazy!
Me: Oh, for the love of…
Angie: I’M SO SORRY, MRS. “I CAN AFFORD A MAID!” SOME OF US HAVE TO DO CHORES OURSELVES!
Angie’s Mom: AND THAT SOMEONE ISN’T YOU!
Me: Is there anymore beer left?
As you can see, there are no winners. Everyone’s going to go home mad, Angie’s going to be in a huff for a week, and that buffet table won’t be anywhere that anyone wanted it.
I’ll also be out of beer, which is the real tragedy.
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