Superman and the Clown. Aren't we a pair?

I am married to Superman. I think super hero identities are meant to remain anonymous, so I shall deny this, especially to Mark, who hasn't a clue I have discovered his secret.

He has single-handedly (one arm behind his back) loaded up the cargo van, and with the enlisted help of a teenager from across the street, (for appearance purposes only…can’t be holding pianos over his head in public), they moved things with great speed, that should have required a fleet of buff professional movers.

While he did this, l spent my time sitting on the couch, wrapping whatever he put in front of me. When that was done, he assigned me to the RV (no more saving me from falls down the stairs or getting stuck on the floor)…My duty here has been to find room for the contents of the endless number of boxes he would bring home every night.

Hey, I just referred to the RV as home!  And it is actually starting to look that way . . . almost. I promise to post pics of the inside as soon as I find cubbies for all the “stuff”.

Today, the company that is doing the sale of our belongings came out to start the pricing. We are almost there! It feels like such a long process. I wish I had some of the strength Superman has. But with me, it is more like Send in the Clowns . . . I fall. I pack things then forget I packed them . . . Where are the clowns?. . . I take the dog for a walk and forget I am still wearing my pajama bottoms . . . There ought to be clowns!  . . . I hear noises in the night, (flapping awning) get up to check things out and run into walls because I forget  I am in the RV. All I need is a flower that squirts water. Don’t bother, I'm here!  . . . I’ll be sure to borrow Mark’s big shoes to wear with my PJ bottoms next time I take the dog out.