I’m ba-a-a-a-ck! My move is over and I finally have phone, cable t.v. and internet again. For a few days there I was living like the pioneers. Only 4 t.v. channels and a cell phone. Don’t let my chipper tone fool you, it was rough. Today I was jonesing to write so bad that I actually picked up one of those…what do you call them? Pens, I think are what my parents called them in the old days. Did you know that if you press one down on a piece of blank paper and move it very carefully you can actually form the same letters that are on the keys of your computer keyboard? I actually wrote out this whole post on paper that way while I waited to get my internet conection back.
Back to the title of this post, Queer Eye for the Moving Guy. I hired “professional” movers for my move. When you think of movers don’t you typically think of large, burly men who are big on brawn but short on brains? Strength without sophistication perhaps. My movers, Chad, Ernest, Walter, and Mover #4, did not fit the stereotype. As many of us bloggers who do run of the mill everyday jobs aspire to be famous writers, I believe that my movers aspired to be more than their laborous jobs allowed for. My movers seemed to fancy themselves as interior decorators. As the Fab Four were unloading the truck at my new domecile, a furniture delivery truck arrived to bring my new sofa and loveseat. Immediately Chad and Ernest were very curious to know why I had chosen a sofa and loveseat that were not a matching set. A short while later after the loveseat furor had subsided, Walter inquired as to my plans for all of the orange shag carpet that the previous owners favored. This was a question also later echoed by Mover #4. The previous owners of my new home also liked wallpaper. Alot. They liked it enough that their moving out of state may bankrupt the entire local wallpaper industry. Of course the Fab Four had comments on this as well, wanting to know which rooms would remain unchanged and which I would be redecorating. It would not have surprised me in the least if they had begun critiquing my wardrobe as I unpacked the clothes. Needless to say, I found their aesthetic commentary needless, but humorous. I’m not so sure that I would have received as many questions or raisd eyebrows if the real Queer Eye for the Straight Guy guys had moved my stuff. (Incidentally, if the real Queer Eye guys showed up and wanted to redecorate my house and give me a new wardrobe I wouldn’t complain.)