Heavy-lifting, Part II

Yes, yes, of course the desk got moved. I said it was gonna, didn't I? But, um, it wasn't exactly me who was channeling any super powers. I swear, dear readers, not an hour after posting the last blog post, my wrist was seering with radiating pain through my fingers and up to my elbow. A freak attack of carpal tunnels syndrome.
But fear not, for my more-than-super girlfriend saved the day, with feats of human stregnth I have seldom witnessed. I ended up getting my neighbor's boyfriend to help, and by golly, they moved that damn thing, which I would estimate at about 800 gagillion pounds.
Oh, and oh, if I haven't already mentioned, dear readers, why do you ask did I need to move such a hulking piece of furniture? Well, because my party of three has become a party of five -- as my lovely girlfriend and her sweetie daughter are moving in with me and my girls. Yes, yes, that's a whole lot of estrogen under one roof, but we're determined to make it work. So, stay tuned for more estrogen-overload related tell-alls (and remind me to tell you about this weekend's "diary incident," where I learned that my oldest daughter CAN indeed spell quite a few curse words. Ahem.) and blended family war-stories. Oh, and of course, lots more gushing about how head-over-heels in love I am.

Heavy-lifting

Apparently, I'm not the only one doing my part to dismantle the patriarchy. But I have to admit, It's been pointed out to me recently that I've whined quite a bit about "needing a man" to do some certain things. No, not those things. Things that require heavy lifting and the upper body strength that I just don't possess. Things like tightening screws, moving furniture, and reaching light bulbs that remain out of reach when I stand on my step ladder.
In the past, I've "borrowed" the manly-man husbands and lovers of my straight girlfriends. And I haven't felt particularly guilty about not being strong enough to accomplish certain tasks. But the last thing I'm really wanting to do today is become some sort of damsel-in-distress and beg some dudes to come to my rescue.
I'm remembering my on-the-fly move over a year ago, when good friend R came down the block to help me move a bed. It took us far longer than it should have. We'd carry it a bit, chatting all the way, set it down until we caught our breath and then pick it up again. We shoved and strained to push it up the stairs, almost falling over at points. But we did it, and it felt good to know that in a pinch, us girls can get the job done.
I sent my youngest daughter to school this morning in a shirt that said, "Anything boys can do, girls can do better." I was literally tossing and turning all night, perplexed that I hadn't gotten any guys to commit to moving this massive desk out of my office today — even bitching at my girl friend for suggesting that we could do the job ourselves. It's heavy. Maybe too heavy. Definitely too heavy. But so help me goddess, if it takes me all friggin' day, we're gonna move that damn thing.
I'm going to channel my favorite super-heroine today (Wonder Woman, obviously) combined with the tenacity and strength of my grandma (who lifted a Buick when her baby was pinned under the wheel momentarily) and get this job done. I'm still half-hoping that someone (not necessarily a man) will come along and help us, so if you're in the mood to do a little heavy lifting and channel your inner super heroine, gimme a call today.