Moving and Marriage

Moving is a right-royal-pain-in-the-ass! Literally! Tyrone and I are walking like Fred Sanford. I'm covered in bruises from the boxes and heavy things. It looks like I'm either doing smack or getting roughed-up by my future hubby. Tyrone quipped that the music for our ceremony will have to be changed to the Theme from Sanford and Son as I limp down the aisle in my wedding dress, covered in bruises. He's made me promise not to move heavy stuff tomorrow. "Take a day to rest," counsels Ty.

I might just do that.

Just imagine how we'd be walking, were it not for John. Our angel, our saint, our friend who arrived at the storage place ready to kick some ass and take some names. He unloaded, heaved, and hauled until the truck was empty. The rain didn't stop him or even deter him. Thanks, John.

If anyone is interested, in November, Ty and I would like to get a care package together to send to John's old battalion in Iraq. There's no other way to thank him for his help with the move.