Moving moving moving beer moving swimming moving swimming beer work work work moving work.
We're having people over at the old house one last time this weekend before we wipe the layer of grime off everything and start putting it all in boxes. The number one question from invitees has not been the usual, much-appreciated "How much premium-quality beer should I bring?" or "What time do you think should the highly skilled burlesque dancers I plan on hiring arrive?"
No, this time, all I hear is, "Oh, boy, do we get to wreck the place?!?" I know they're just joking, but everyone's eyes gleam just a leetle too much for my taste when they ask me that. I mean, I'd kind of hoped to live there another week and a half and then get at least some of the deposit back.