Bonding

B is for bonding. J and I aren't exactly waifs, but we realistically deferred to boyfriends, dads, and brothers for the heavy lifting of oak dressers, oversized chairs, and our 2-ton pull-out-couch during the move-in process. This would be commendable on any day, but it was especially impressive on the hottest day of the summer so far. Post-schlepping, there were many adorable handshakes and pats on the back. Meanwhile, our moms were also assisting and mostly just commenting on how cute everything was.

"LOOK at that painting. Just look at it. It was made for this apartment. I just can't get over it. Sheila, come look at this."

"Oh my GAWD, Dianne. Can you believe it?! Oh you girls, you're just going to have so much fun here. Don't you wish you could live like this again?! Oh my word...." Etc. etc.

The dudes held the furniture together, and the moms held each other together. They're both pretty sentimental and I think otherwise would have been crying about the loss of their only daughters to the big bad city.

Then, J and I bonded by unpacking and assembling crappy Target furniture for 3 days in 90-degree heat, without air conditioning. It was one of those "Ain't nobody gonna break my stride" kind of weekends, where we were too excited to dream of complaining that we might get heat stroke and pass out in the comfort of our own home.