“That’s great, babe. I can’t wait to see it. Listen, I hate to do this, but I’m still in the office, and it looks like I’m going to be here for quite a while. Can we go to the movies tomorrow instead?”
But…I was hoping to see him tonight.
Come on, Loren. The man has a life and a job. He can’t throw everything aside because you decided to move on a whim.
“That’s no problem.” On the bright side, now I can unpack and get settled in.
“Great. Can’t wait.”
“Neither can I.”
Happily-ever-after, here I come.
Mattresses come in boxes now. Who knew?
Not me.
Pretty convenient considering there wasn’t enough room in my car for an unpacked mattress, and I would’ve had to wait two days for the delivery folks to drop it off.
Now all I need to do is haul this sucker up to my apartment along with the rest of my purchases and I will officially be moved in.
Just because the mattress-in-a-box is compact doesn’t mean it’s lighter than any other mattress. By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I’m a ball of sweat and my arms feel like they’re about to fall off.
Which doesn’t bode well for carrying the disgusting old mattress currently hanging out in the concrete stairwell back down to its new home in the dumpster across the parking lot.
Come on, Loren. You’ve got this.
If all else fails, I can always slide the thing.
The problem with that plan is that the floor isn’t smooth but scratchy, like Velcro, and the mattress doesn’t want to slide anywhere. The stubborn thing doesn’t want to bend either, which is something I learn the hard way at the first ninety-degree turn.
Dammit. This was supposed to be the easy part. Gravity is on my side; however, the mattress is not.
It’s just me and the sweat dribbling down my back versus the world’s heaviest and grossest single mattress.
And I’m losing. Big time.
The damn thing has to fit; someone brought it up the stairs, after all.
Unless the architects designed the entire building around my bed, which, I’m starting to wonder…
“Hey.”
I whip toward the sound, finding the guy from next door standing in his doorway, a white lollipop stick poking from between his smirking lips.
Now that his face isn’t fused with someone else’s, I can safely confirm that he’s hot. Not that I’m interested since I’m dating the potential love of my life, but I can label him as objectively attractive.
First, we have the dark brown hair that looks freshly washed. The ends curl slightly, which isn’t surprising considering the amount of humidity in the air right now.
Then we have the black T-shirt that fits way too well. The word “tailored” comes to mind.
I’ve always wanted a tailor, especially for pants. When you’re as tall as I am, all the legs are a little too short. Going up the sizes increases the length, but then they don’t fit in the hips/butt region.
I could go on but there’s no point when there’s a mattress to wrestle.
My neighbor glances from the mattress to me and says, “Nice shoes.”
I don’t even remember which shoes I’m wearing. Oh yeah, the black ones I bought during my emo phase. I shove my hair back from my sticky forehead.
