Right, that's done, then.

Every time there is a major move, there is some what-the-everloving-fuck? moment. Sometimes it comes early on, and you can quit worrying about it. Sometimes it lurks, breeding in the closet, for years, waiting for horrified discovery.

The first time we moved (Virginia to Hawaii), the movers packed our plane tickets, shoes, car keys, and wallets. Even though they'd  been told, many times, to leave everything in That Corner alone.

I've heard stories of movers packing live cats, kitchen garbage, and lunch. (ME: "What's the weirdest thing you've heard packed by accident on a move?" HUB: "Well... it's all relative. I swear they take pride in the weirdest, nastiest shit packed up in a military move.") Also dirty kitty litter. Husbeast has been ranting on this topic. He wants to put claymores under their cars and say they were mis-packed.

You get the idea.

Our next move (Hawaii to South Carolina, further in culture than miles), the mover packed the butter dish. Like, butter, dish, knife, and all. And canned goods. It did wonders for our weight limit.

We once found live geckos, on an Aiea to Honolulu move. Thankfully they'd only been packed a couple days.

When we packed up the house  in South Carolina, we put most of it in storage, if you'll recall. I knew that wasn't going to end well. Besides the mold cultures in my refrigerator, and the fabric full of bugs, THE SCRATCH ON MY DINING TABLE, there was this lurking feel that, well, it wasn't over yet.

Last week, I wanted the carafe I use for hot tea. Vacuum flask, basically, like they use in restaurants. I knew I'd unpacked it, at one point. I poked around, and there it was in the back of the hall closet. I'd just clean it up a bit, and tea ahoy.

Then I opened it.

WHOEVER PACKED THE CARAFE IN SOUTH CAROLINA HAD NOT CHECKED TO SEE IF IT WAS EMPTY FIRST. A year in storage, another... two? Threeish? years in my hall closet. It was... originally... tea. It had turned into brown slime that smelled like furniture polish.

After several rounds of vinegar, bleach, and soap, it seems I have salvaged the carafe. At the least, it doesn't smell any longer, and it's been through enough chemicals I figure any germs left will mutate me into Wolverine before they kill me.

Right. Hopefully that's our last what the everloving fuck.

Hopefully.