FRI 2nd JULY : MOVE ON OUT

Even after the 3 days notice the Lady gave us; we woke up this morning in our Bank Street apartment and it looked like any other day. Everything was in place with a small amount of mess made by yours truly. It didn't feel like any other day as the Lady shot dagger eyes as I suggested we start with a coffee from around the corner. I suggested that I also get a few more black bags and she demanded why we weren't organised already. She also reminded me that I still didn't have any accomodation for the next 2 weeks. I'll sort it out - don't worry, I pleaded.

Cowering with my coffee when I returned I spent much of the morning boxing, bagging, throwing out and asking the Lady to chill out a little. At 2pm her father turned up with a van from his pizza chain: Papa Luigi's. The plan was to put some crap in storage and less important stuff into the Lady's folks' basement. The father rubbed his chin and laughed at the near chaos in the apartment.

We fetched all the stuff for the storage on 17th and plunked it into the van. When we brought out her shelves, the van was full and father stopped and shook his head. 'You guys, why do you waste your money on storage.' I was more concerned with how were we going to get the 6x6 shelves into the 5x5 doorway of the van??

'Guy,' he said. 'How much do you want to bet that I can take the whole of the stuff back to my house [in Philadelphia]?'

The doors were already cramming the stuff in. It was an easy bet. I shook on a thousand.

'OK. Bring the rest of the stuff out.'

I walked back into the apartment and found the lady still dividing a bok of shoes and boots between piles: charity, parents, parent basement, storage, suitcase, suitcase 2. I told her about the easy bet. She told me that he'd win as she put her much loved black Uggs to one side.

I brought out the bicycle, table and several bags to the steps of the apartment and he was grinning. I returned to the Lady and told her that her father was going to lose big time.

We both walked out with black plastic bags sporting unsecure labels. 'Bloody hell. He thinks he's still in Iran,' I said to the Lady as I saw a pyramid of the Lady's personal possessions tied to the roof of the van with string and extension chord.

'That's my dad!' she said with pride. Damn. More stuff to compete with.

On the way home the police at Holland Tunnel giggled as they waved us through: maybe a highlight in another boring Friday afternoon. I sat in the made-up seat in the middle beside a very satisfied Lady and a pleased with himself Lady's father. What could I do as we travelled at 70 against the wind along the New Jersey Turnpike? 'What's that noise? Oh did we forget to tie down that box with your Ugg boots in, honey?'