Blonde moments and stupid accidents

Yesterday when we were moving furniture to our new house, my flatmate got her finger jammed in the couch and, after screaming, swearing and crying for a bit, settled on laughing through the pain. I, somewhat awkwardly, didn’t know what to do with myself, so wandered off to carry on packing things into the car.

Today, we were unpacking things in our new house. I was in the kitchen, she was in her bedroom, down the hallway. As I unpacked cups and plates and put them away in the cupboard, I heard a noise from the end of the hall. I couldn’t quite tell what it was, because I’d been thumping around with boxes. I paused for a moment to listen, and from her bedroom I heard the faint sound of hysterical laughter, and knew that my flatmate had hurt herself once more.

The day didn’t end until we’d each been hurt several times. For me, most of the times I hurt myself involved banging my head on my car boot. For my flatmate, it was a variety of things. She even cut her finger trying to pick up a pile of blankets that I’d accidentally put down on some broken glass. Whoops.

We each had our blonde moments too. My flatmate spent about five minutes hunting for her car keys and starting to sound as if she were stressing about it, only to find them in the lock on her car boot. I found a big puddle on the laundry floor and tried to dry it with a bathmat, and then said that I didn’t have anything else to mop it up with, completely forgetting that right in front of my very eyes, there was an actual mop sitting in the laundry, just waiting to be used.

Moving is fun.