|Out with the old.|
|In with the new. That's The Lady Vanishes on the TV, 1938 version. Don't you just love Hitchcock?|
We could have, and most definitely should have, stopped at this point, bearing in mind that we are in our fifties, with three back surgeries between us, and to be fair, Mike did ask if we were being unwise to attempt this on our own. In flip-flops. But nah, there's a line between ill-advised and stoopid, and we stepped our flip-flopped feet right over it.
Mike felt he should be at the bottom with me at the top, but I thought pulling was harder on my back than pushing, so we switched places. That was a bad decision. Very bad. Step by step, we inched our way up. Halfway to the landing, I could feel my grip slipping, and I didn't want to alarm DH, but mentally I was making some hard choices, like whether it was better to have fractured ribs and a ruptured spleen or broken legs, cause when it all went south, I planned to try and launch myself out from under. "I think we should stop," I managed to wheeze. "Good idea," he agreed, we just couldn't figure out how to make that happen. He couldn't let go without crushing me, and I was barely holding on, but ever so slowly, we managed to back it down, vowing never to attempt anything remotely like that again. Ever.After a bit of brainstorming, we decided that Mr. Big Honking Armoire would look just dandy in the little library, where he could house my printers and supplies. Mr. Governor Winthrop desk could come out of the library and live happily in the living room, where he'd look very handsome against the buttery yellow wall. A sensible Plan B.
|Mike added more shelves.|