Now all our Brunswick West dinner party fans dont fret, we're not leaving the Bruns. In fact were not even leaving the Pears. We're moving 5 houses down the street.
Joke of course being, you need to pack just as many boxes to move 5 houses as you do interstate. Shame.
Anyway, the point is that I realised moving felt a little too familiar. I mean, this is about to be Tim's 3rd home. I did the math, it's my 19th.
Its true. And to make it more fun, 12 of those houses have been in the last 7 years.
Regardless of the stats that suggest I must be an intolerable roomie, I'd like to point out, Tim is coming with me. We're just moving on to bigger and better things. And by that I mean a bigger garage, bigger bedrooms, my friend Steve (discussed previously) and a puppy; Shaun Barack Obama Muir-Clark. (We haven't met him yet, just named him. If you know a puppy who needs a good home, hit me up.)
So here's to packing, moving, unpacking and all the shit times in between. Here's to my dad, who celebrated my interstate departure by declaring he'd never have to help me move house again, and to my boyfriend James, who has a van.
Hey baby, busy on the 25th?
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