A Moving Tale

'I know I said it, but I was just upset, I didn't mean it, I don't need the ENTIRE world on my side, I just need YOU on my side' said Clarice, with a tear in her eye, and love in her voice, to her husband Greg. 

This panicked him. 

Not because as a surprise he'd hired three local gardeners to start digging up the entire Western Hemisphere and start dumping it on her side of the bed, with at least several wheelbarrow loads expected by the time breakfast was finished, and that he didn't know how to tell her that after braking a handle one of them had borrowed HER shovel.

Nor because as another surprise he'd already had seventeen thousand bulldozers work overnight to dump the entire Eastern Hemisphere onto her side of the bed, and he didn't know how to tell her that some of them had forgotten to take their shoes off before climbing in the bedroom window.

Nor even because he had forgotten to tell those shovel wielders and  bulldozer operators to remember exactly where each individual bit they'd dug up came from so they could put them back exactly where they got them from, meaning now that those bits WERE going back that the odd bit may be put back in the wrong place. 

Not even because of the overtime pay he was going to have to fork out to all these workers to try and figure it out so that the bits were back in at least some place near their origin by the end of the work day so no one would complain at him about their bits missing, knowing full well that once word got out about the pay structure that the bulldozer operators were going to complain about having to share between seventeen thousand for half the world, but the other guys only had to do a three way split, and probably were going to get several more days work than they got too.

And not even because of the complaints he now realized he was going to get from people pointing out that East and West aren't true hemispheres and that if you're going to dump the entire world somewhere to at least break it up into Northern and Southern. 

No he was panicking because he didn't WANT to be on her side of the bed, 'if I did then why the fuck did I spend all that money for the ample space of a king sized' He wanted to scream.

But he didn't. He was more worried about how to tell her that due to a bulldozer operator mistakenly and stupidly taking the suggestion that he 'take a break' literally, that one of her prized paintings of famous sports injuries resulting in horrendous broken bones had been stolen. 

Which was so sad, those were a gift from him that he'd stolen from the Broken Bone Hall Of Fame after she'd told him that 'when it came to present gifting in the near future he should take a break'.

Asshole. If you can't trust a bulldozer operator then who can you trust? It really is just so hard to find good help these days.

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