1. The weekend started out so well. I put on grown up clothes and makeup. I made a solid attempt at doing my hair despite the raging rain. BrightSide and I left the urchins at home and spent several hours in the company of – wait for it – OTHER ADULTS. It was crazy town.
2. As you can see above the wine kicked into high gear overnight, making me wonder things like is there cat vomit on the sponge I used to wipe down counters before bed? and when do we get another season of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel? I blame the third glass.
3. Since Friday = play, Saturday = Big Time Work Because This House Won’t Unpack Itself. Necessary? Yes. Also where things went a bit sideways.
4. I got a bee in my bonnet about unpacking art/mirrors/high value items to see if they’d survived the move intact. Are we decorating yet? Nope. But I figured it’s all good – I’d find out if we have to file any claims with the movers plus we’d get more boxes out of the house. Win-win, right?
5. Things were going swimmingly until I finished opening everything stashed in the basement and realized half my list was missing. (Yeah, I took a pic of the inventory sheet, don’t judge me for knowing I have a faulty memory under pressure.) After thirty seconds of deep breathing to ward off impending panic I left Bear to break down boxes while I searched the rest of the house.
6. I was equal parts exceedingly relieved and WTF to find the rest of the boxes stashed in the attic. In the alcove under the window. Where it gets freaking hot. But okay, fine, better now than in July, let’s just deal. That’s when I realized I couldn’t get the boxes out. We put flooring down the week we moved in and it reaches just up to but not next to the alcove. Hmm…okay, I can figure this out, I am woman hear me roar and all that jazz.
7. I couldn’t balance on the crossbeams to pull boxes out because no joke, we all know I’d be the one to crash through the insulation. I tried pulling boxes straight out but, y’know, t-rex arms. Plus those things were HEAVY. Then I figured shift boxes so I can get behind them but nope, something was blocking it. Which is how I ended up contorting into weird shapes to get into the alcove myself.
8. I know what you’re thinking. Hey, Laura, wouldn’t it have been smarter to just get BrightSide? Yeah, okay, whatever. But weren’t you paying attention to the I am woman, hear me roar part? We’ll call this The Part Where I Stupidly Lifted And Twisted And Moved Things I Never Should Have Moved Then Paid The Price.
9. Mild discomfort Saturday night morphed into moderate discomfort Sunday morning and on to crippling not-sure-I’ll-make-it-up-those-stairs pain Sunday night. God bless America and open late pharmacies.
10. Which brings me to my title. How I made it forty-eight years without trying Bengay® I’ll never know, but like sex and coffee and a hundred other things I haven’t been de-virgined on, that first run in is unforgettable. Here’s the skinny for those of you who haven’t had the pharmaceutical pleasure…
What.is.that.smell? Fine then, stuff’s on, nothing’s happening. Except for that smell permeating every piece of clothing I have on, my skin, my hair, the couch cushion, man nothing’s gonna get that out, how am I supposed to – MY BACK IS ON FIRE!!! FLAMES. FROM MY BACK. FLAMES ARE COMING FROM MY BACK.