Yes, I've just dated myself by taking a page from seventies hit TV show The Jeffersons. I have, in fact, moved on down...to Florida. I don't move well. At all. I inevitably freak out. Big Cexy and I argue over small details which, during a move, are monumental. So far I've been right on almost everything, as he's had to learn the hard way. I won't rub it in with an "I told you so" because I got the hell out of Dodge on Monday shortly after the movers showed up. That allowed him to do things his way and for us to stop arguing. Let's face it--when you've both issued apologies by 9 am, it's not good.
Instead I've spent the week in such unseasonably warm weather that I had to go buy short sleeve T-shirts and capris as opposed to the long sleeve T's, jeans, and boots I packed when I left Atlanta. (Okay, okay. So I bought a pair of sandals, too. Can you blame me?) It's supposed to be in the 70's when we move in our new house on Saturday. I was like Oh, hell no! at the thought of doing it in jeans and a snuggly long sleeve T-shirt.
Cexy is driving down after he finishes a meeting this afternoon.
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