With the Mr off roaming about, his duties fall to me. He has got this packing thing down to a science. I never hear him cussing as he bangs himself in the forehead with a wayward box corner. Twice. I never find him so encased in tangled tape that he temporarily looses all use of his hands. And I know that even when presented with three (3!) buyers all named Barbara, he never mixes up the art only to figure it out later and have to re-pack it.
I am so not him. So it is with no small effort that I have accomplished this daunting task (which he manages to handle gracefully every week, I might add).
Tah-dah!
OK, so there may have been a rather exorbitant amount of tape used. And copious notes checked and re-checked. And bad words muttered.
But overall, I'd call my packing challenge a success.
I'm sure getting all these boxes to the post office
will present it's own unique brand of comedy.










. . .the very first Bone Daddy was born.