Am currently on day 3 of OCD cleaning post-move. Sunday saw Mon Amour and his brother hefting my boxes o' crap. I have a lot of books. And clothes that I hope one day to fit back into post-Peanut birthing. It was weird and frustrating not being able to help carry my own boxes.
The previous tenant had broken up with his fiancé and couldn't afford the flat on his own. The landlord apparently couldn't get it together in time to clean the house before we moved in, so Mon Amour bargained our way out of this month's building fees. When I saw the state of the flat, I told him we could have gone for two months of building fees.
While I've seen worse, the poor previous tenant had obviously been doing the "I'm depressed" bare minimum of cleaning. And he left behind a crapload of stuff, a lot of it obviously stuff his ex left behind.
Lord knows I can empathize with the poor dude, but I'd probably empathize more if my feet weren't doing the preggo swelling thing and Mon Amour didn't have an overprotective freak out every time I drop a bottle of cleaning product in another room...
More once I get my primary computer set up...
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