“You’re Not Strong Enough to Move My Furniture”
Lessons from a new generation of women, and why I frigging love them for it.
Kristen and I cracked up. We were carrying my brand new solid wood desk up my stairs, after taking it out of my trunk, up all the steps on my landing. Now inside, I was backing up, she had the balance end.
She had just told me what older women- MY generation- tell her when she shows up at the door to move their household stuff.
Will you PLEASE.
Kirsten’s about half my age, likely about three inches taller. Almost willowy, if you buy into the long blonde hair and soft, almost imperceptible lisp when she speaks. Today was the first time I’ve seen her face without a mask.
Willowy?
Well, “Willowy” and her moving pard Jesse came over to my house a few weeks back. They hoisted the 350-lb solid stone Indonesian Buddha out of the back of my Honda, up multiple sets of stairs, and set it down in my gazebo. My hands were, at that time, too damaged to use, so I pulled weeds and stayed out of the way. Total hits to my property: a tiny wood ding on the stairs.
Kristen’s been moving furniture for more than four years now. She once moved a piano all by herself. I’ve seen her work around here with…
