…or at least locked out of my own house.
New Wife does not want me to be present today at the moving of our stuff from the garage back into the apartment because reasons. (Mostly because I fly into frequent rages at the recalcitrance of furniture to fit through doors etc. and am likely to break things when it doesn’t. Also, I hate packing stuff away, and she absolutely loves doing it.)
So I’ve supplied the movers (strong young backs) from a company that I’ve used many times before, and that’s all there is to it.
And no, she’s not going to rearrange our stuff so that I’ll never find it again — she is actually more a creature of habit than I am, so when I’m eventually allowed back in, sometime this afternoon, I should find the place almost ready for human habitation.
My sole responsibility is the packing away of guns into safes, and buying the groceries we’ll be needing to resume our former life, such as it was. And that’s only scheduled for tomorrow (Sunday).
It could be worse. Like it was back in mid-February.