The other day when I texted you, "Can you come over and help me take apart a bunk bed?" and you texted back, "Sure! Give me a sec!" because you were actually in the middle of giving your son a haircut, but you came right over anyway to lend me a hand. You're that kind of neighbor.
So then we went back to the girls room and we took our places on opposite ends of the beds, counted "1, 2, 3....go" and we LIFTED! Oh, how we lifted. Nothing. Absolutely no indication that we had exerted any effort whatsoever. We tried again...really putting our backs into it. Nothing. This time I get serious and climb onto the bottom bunk so I can get leverage. "1, 2, 3....go!" I'm not ashamed to say there was grunting.
We looked at each other and admitted that we were not going to be able to do this without the men. Which admittedly is hard for me to admit, given our previous bunk bed successes. We admitted defeat and you returned home to resume the haircut. (How many times can you say 'admit' in one paragraph?)
Remember that?
Well, the part you don't know is that when Mark came home, I humbly asked him if he might use his manly muscles to separate the girl's bunk beds. I explained that you and I had done our best, but we simply weren't strong enough. He walked into the room, took one look and said, "Could this be the problem?"
Oh.
Heh heh.
I'm sorry.
Your neighbor,
Maren
haha, that's funny. It's always the little things that make the big things hard, isn't it.
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