Space to dance
29 Mar
Most of our bedroom furniture has been downstairs hanging out in the hallway between the dining room and the bar. (Yes, we have a bar in our new house. Major selling point to us. It even has a mini-fridge.) We moved in during the beginning of February. It is now almost April.
The problem was that our stairwell with a decorative banister was too narrow to get the furniture up and the movers were convinced that the window upstairs was too small to get our stuff through. Even though no one measured.
Carpenters came and went to see about removing the banister. It’s welded to the house and can’t be taken down. We called our landlord. We called the moving company. My husband measured the window and the furniture and saw that it would fit. Even he, with his serious persuasion skills couldn’t convince these people that our dang stuff would fit.
Then finally. Yesterday. In a last ditch effort to shut us up the moving company sent out a group of movers to survey our options. We knew what our options were: put it through the window or make a trip to Ikea to get new tiny furniture. They looked at the banister, looked at the window upstairs, looked at the furniture and told me: sorry, lady. There’s no hope. We’ll put your stuff in storage for you.
They left. Like any strong, self-reliant army wife I sat on the couch and started crying. I took out cell phone to text my husband the bad news. About 30 seconds after the left before I could finish my text message the door bell rang again. It was a rough 30 seconds for me. I wiped my tears and headed to the door. It was the movers. ”You know,” they said, “zee vindow looks bigger from outside. We’re going to double check our measurements.”
Yes, please. Triple check if you have to.
After a painstaking few minutes they told me, “Ya, we can fit zeese two pieces. We vill call you and set up a time to come out. Sometime this week.”
Neither my husband, nor I, got a call. 7:30 this morning the doorbell rang. My eyes sprung open, “The movers.”
“That wasn’t our doorbell,” my husband said sleepily. ”Come back to bed.”
I was already in the bathroom trying to find my sweatpants and a bra. ”I’m just going to check it’s not them.”
The bell rang again.
I found the keys and unlocked the door. ”Hallo!” the mover from yesterday said. ”Ve are a little bit earlier than yesterday.”
They got my bedroom furniture upstairs, my loves. 
Well, everything except our box spring. Buying a new one is a small price to pay, I feel.
We’ve already danced in the open space and I’ve put my underwear away for the first time in months. I sure am one blessed girl.
