Life & Style
So Help Me
This has been an era of Getting Things Done. An era of Doing Grown-up Stuff. Last month I prepared my will, this month I’m preparing my living room. For what? Well, for looking less like a dorm room and more like an adult’s living space. It starts when my friend the Wolfman informs me that he no longer wants his desk. It’s a large, gorgeous desk that looks like a great novel should be written as one sits at it. I’m not sure if that will happen, but I know it’ll look perfect in my living room. So, I take it. In turn I give my old desk, which is functional and in good shape, to my neighbors. It’s a nice desk, but the Wolfman’s is more solid, more sturdy. His has presence.
Thankfully I’m able to get my town’s version of Vin Diesel and The Rock to pick up the Wolfman’s desk and bring it to my apartment. Earlier I’d refused a price of $200 from a moving company to move the desk from one town over. Was it grown up of me to laugh at the person who gave me that price on the phone? No, I suppose not. I pick and choose when I absolutely need to be an adult.
Vin Diesel and The Rock move the desk in about three seconds from the Wolfman’s to a truck, then from the truck to my living room. They even move it up my killer stairs without (seemingly) too much effort. And they like to be paid in beer. Works for all.
Next to go is my old futon couch. I got it when I was in my early 20s. It’s in great shape, just like the desk, but it’s been a very long time since I bought it. I’d like to think my 20s were only yesterday, but. . . well, let’s just say they weren’t only yesterday. Time for a change.
I order a daybed so that I have the function of a futon with a better look and more comfort. Then I anxiously await the shipment so my new daybed friend can meet my new desk friend and my living room upgrade project can be complete.
I track the package and see that it’s been delivered. One package? For a whole bed?
When I get home the box is leaned against the garage and is way taller than any box I’ve ever seen. I’m convinced that it’s not a bed in there. It’s a skyscraper in there. Or it’s a bed for a yeti. There must be a mistake.
Instead of asking for help I decide I’m going to move it myself. It’s just bulky, it’s not heavy, I tell myself.
It’s like moving the Empire State Building is what it is.
But I’m stuck now. My friends are having martinis down the street and I’m not interrupting that. So, I figure I’ll move Mount Bed into my apartment and then join them. It’s supposed to rain soon, so this must happen now. It’s also hot. Most days lately have been unseasonably frigid, but this one is a preview of July. Mid-July. Hazy, hot, and humid July.
I manage to tip the gigantic yeti-bed box onto its side. That’s as far as I get. Then, grown-up inspiration strikes. I open the monstrous box and take the bed pieces out a few at a time and bring them up my Everest-like steps.
Not long after, as I sip my very grown-up martini, I’m thankful. I’m thankful for friends who help without hesitation. There is no truer friend than one who will help you move furniture. That’s a fact. I’m also thankful that sometimes I can help myself.
For days after my back, knees, and calves remind me just how out of shape I’ve become. From grown up to groan up. But that’s okay. My daybed is now in my living room piled high with fluffy pillows and blankets. It’s big. It’s comfy. As a matter of fact, a yeti could probably sleep the night away on it. Or at least get a good nap in.
Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Juliana Gribbins is the Columnist for Zip06. Email Juliana at .