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“Todd, what time are the movers getting here?”
Standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand and a slight hangover plaguing him from the Friday night before, Todd looked at his watch. “I don’t know,” he began. “Like, thirty minutes or so.”
He set his coffee down and put the final pieces of tape on the boxes she had packed throughout the week. Confused by some of the other items left on the countertop, he began putting them into some other empty boxes that set next to the door while she pretended to Swiffer the floors before the movers actually arrived. Seeing what Todd was doing from her living area, she came to a halt.
“What are you doing right now?” she inquired with a furrowed brow. “We’re not taking this stuff.”
Holding a seemingly brand new blender in his hands, he simply asked, “Why wouldn’t we take this? This is way nicer than the second-hand one my parents gave me when I moved here.”
“It’s gross,” she said. “And, like, I never even use a blender anyway because I got a Vitamix when I started juicing.”
Confused by why anyone would simply leave a fully capable kitchen appliance behind rather than take two minutes to pack it, Todd set it underneath the counter and planned on packing it up once the movers came and everything became a commotion.
Moving on from the kitchen that was evidently a lost cause, Todd decided it would be a good idea to do a clean sweep of the apartment to ensure she wasn’t forgetting anything else. The place they decided to lease together had more room than either of their places before, so there wasn’t a huge concern about fitting all of their furniture. After all, before Todd moved his things, he was instructed to throw out his sectional couch (he ended up donating it) in addition to his bed (in favor of her Tempurpedic).
When he entered her room, he noticed that her bed frame was still assembled. As he got down on one knee and began unscrewing it, she poked her head around the door and said, “What are you doing? The movers can do that, I need your help in the living room.”
Again discouraged, Todd got off his knee, grabbed his coffee, and headed to the living room to see what needed to be moved in preparation for the moving truck that was to arrive in twenty minutes. She stood in the middle of the room surrounded by boxes. With one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead, she looked at her 55″ Sony television.
“Do you think any of the movers would want this?” she asked. “It’s, like, honestly probably time for a new one.”
Todd looked at the television which still had it’s plastic on the back of it from when he unboxed it at her place the day of her Puppy Bowl party. In a fit of hungover anger, Todd shook his head and said (seemingly) to himself, “You can leave your Gwyneth Paltrow and Chrissy Teigen cookbooks here since you’ve already made all the recipes, but we’re not leaving this television behind.” Shrugging, he looked at her.
“How. Dare. You.”
She wasn’t actually mad about Todd insisting on bringing the television to the new apartment, but she was mad at the tone of his voice when he disputed the fact that she wanted to leave it.
“I made those recipes for you, Todd,” she scolded. “Do you think I wanted to make lettuce wraps, artisanal grilled cheeses, baklava, thai pork, ham and cheese casserole, and every other fucking thing I had to search high and low at Whole Foods for? It’s been hard enough for me to keep busy after leaving my job, so for you to–”
There was a knock at the door.
“It’s the movers,” a deep-voiced man announced. “Sorry, a few minutes early!”
“Ugh, we’ll just settle this later, Todd,” she whispered while walking to let them in.
As three men entered her apartment to pick everything up, she held Sperry in the kitchen to ensure Sperry wouldn’t get in the way. Todd was walking up and down the stairs breaking a sweat trying to help them despite the fact that they were much stronger and more capable than him, and he soon found himself attempting to utilize the elevator with the smaller boxes in an effort to leave the big stuff to the professionals.
When he approached her door after bringing a box of her clothes down to the truck, he could hear one of the movers thanking her for some cutlery that she had apparently just given to him. Picking his battles and getting his breath, he decided to linger in the hallway for a moment rather than immediately enter the apartment. He wiped his hands down his face and checked his phone to see how much time the movers were taking as he didn’t want to spend more than two hours with them at their pay rate.
“Seriously,” she said from afar. “Stop thanking me, I never even use those knives anyway.”
Todd leaned up against hall in an effort to steal another few seconds of rest before re-entering the apartment.
“Besides,” she began, “We can just register for new ones anyway.” .
Image via Shutterstock
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Will
Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.
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Todd needs to use those knives on himself
Or her. TGDAG: Testify at a Domestic Assault Trial
“Yeah some high maintenance girl gave me these knives while I was helping her move. Said she was gonna get new ones when she got married. Poor guy.” – The moving guy to his wife later
Knowing what constitutes quality knives and having a conversation about that. PGP.
I bet they’re Cutco knives or something equally expensive
I had a buddy (reads his wife) register for a single knife that was over $300. What is wrong with people?
People actually get tricked into buying those? They are shit.
Cutco knives? My mom owns a set that she uses everyday. They’re older than I am and they still work great. They’re just really pricey.
Ya, they definitely aren’t overrated. Getting the full 36 knife set is probably overkill, but they are great knives.
Todd, please.
via GIPHY
Underrated gif. Nice one.
Wow, the Madoff Bump is real. Nice.
He needs to save at least one appliance for when he showers at the new place
I’ve been following this troubling, soul sucking relationship since it first graced our computer screens last year. I’m still deciding if Todd is a self loathing goober or if the sex is just incredible. Probably both.
I agree. I’m thinking this girl must have some bedroom skills that can only be acquired in a Thai whorehouse. Or Todd is a moron.
I have to imagine Will has a sheet full of ending lines for these columns and just chooses at random which one he’s going to use to ruin our Wednesdays.
Chill deBreeze you diabolical bastard, getting me excited for a breakup fight mid-move and crushing my dreams for #TeamClaire with the registry at the end. Well played sir, well played indeed.
Somehow I have the depressing feeling this story will make it all the way to the wedding day. The priest up there saying, “Please repeat after me, I…” and right before we finally learn her name, the protagonist will ask that we just skip to the “I dos.”
That will be the day my last spark of belief in humanity dies.
“Man and wife! Say man and wife!”
Classic Princess Bride reference
You know she is going to be fucking the Best Man.
The fact that Todd hasn’t passed out from a panic attack fueled by his hangover and moving in with this girl amazes me.
Having lived through moving with a girlfriend while hungover I could not agree more. Todd will need weeks of therapy after this one.
“How. Dare. You.”
The imagery of this scene is absolutely glorious. Her mouth open, nostrils flaring, and messy bun bouncing around as she snapped her head towards Todd. Her lip quivers as she builds up an on-demand waterworks show. The tears aren’t genuine. She knows that. He knows that. But she wouldn’t hesitate to verbally castrate him if Todd ever worked up the fortitude to call her out. And speaking of Todd…
Todd, Todd, Todd… You sly serpent…
His face of exasperation that says “the fuck you gonna do about it?” Cradling the cup of his life force that may or may not have a little bourbon in it. After all, I’m sure he bought a bottle while at the Derby. Plus it helps ease off the hangover a little more smoothly. Maybe he calmly scratches his balls: a silent yet menacing final touch on just how done he is with her shit. But now ain’t the time or place for a break up ensuing fight. The seed of resentment has been planted. Now it’s time to water that motherfucker.
I see you DeFries… You ain’t done. You’re nowhere near the end. You’re only getting started.
As Confucius once said: “These hoes be schemin”