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The purge and merge

Here's how the impending move is going. Boyfriend is purging. I am merging. You can see the rub.

I have stuff. Boyfriend has stuff. We have to stuff the stuff under one roof. We are no longer young-ens that move lightly. Our middle age accumulation is evident in the number of moving boxes at my house and the items that must be removed from his house. It's tons of fun.

Remember the wagon wheel coffee table scene from "When Harry Met Sally"? Those conversations are simmering on the horizon. (To be fair, his coffee table is actually fine and will go in our newly rented storage unit.)

Fortunately, Boyfriend realizes he has to make concessions. Many of them will be made this weekend while he's out of town. (Less painful.) It could have been worse. I had a dumpster scheduled to be dropped off in his driveway, but canceled after realizing my inability to lift by myself many of the items that need to go. Lucky man.

So maybe the picture is confusing, but it should be documented I'm purging some things. Like the 35 year old mattress on my guest bed. You read that right - 35 years. The only thing that was holding it and the box spring together was dust mites. To my friends who crashed on that bed, my apologies. But know I did have a liner between the mattress and the sheets, so you should be okay. (I'm talking to you, Amy Place.)

Another great use for a mattress is to document teen crushes on it with nail polish. Look closely and you'll see I hearted Mark at some point. Not sure when. Not even sure who. But he was significant enough to warrant permanent documentation on my mattress. My pre-teen, angst-riddled love, displayed on my curb for all to see. You're welcome, Deffenbaugh guy. You are welcome.

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