Last night Gene and I picked up Adam and Christine’s old fridge. Each of us (each couple, that is) got a fridge with the house we purchased, and each of us was unhappy with it: we, because our fridge leaks puddles of water on the floor and has bits falling off the front, and they because — well, no real reason I can see. Fools, this fridge is perfectly good! And it’s mine, all mine!
Anyway. We also got a new bed frame yesterday, which is sitting in pieces in the bedroom until we figure out what to use instead of a box spring. (Box springs raise your mattress too high, I guess? Gene doesn’t appear to like things that are too tall, except me.)
Also, there are still curtains and curtain rods lying around in various places, which you would think we’d be done with that by now, but I keep noticing windows that are, you know, still covered in sheets secured to the frames with clamps, so the influx of curtains is never-ending.
So, currently: bedroom full of bed pieces, in addition to bed. Library full of curtains. Dining room full of curtain rods. And (my personal favorite) Banjo full of fridge.
You would think I would be impatient with all of this, but I am beginning to realize that clutter is my natural milieu.