The Beast

It is as tall as me, less limber (and it is hard to be less limber than I), wider, heavier and more substantial.  This massive armoire was, I believe, Lisa’s first furniture purchase out of college.  For her, it held a TV – likely a thick, knobbed booger with no remote.  For DJ, our hope was it could hold her 600 sweatshirts and sweaters in her new bedroom in her new brownstone in DC.

Let me clarify.  The bedroom is not new and neither is the house.  It was actually built in 1890, 47 years before my eighty-three year-old parents were born.  When DJ decided to move in with friends and toured the place, it was evident that although the overall place was significantly larger than her current apartment, the bedroom was smaller, and the slanted closet might hold 15% of her wardrobe. 

The armoire was in our basement, and I’m currently looking to purge, so it made sense to relocate the Beast.  Little did I know.

DJ wondered if I’d consider painting it.  Of course, for a daughter of mine, the answer was yes.  My incredible fiancé, Julie, jumped in.  She is a really good sport and loves our kids too.

We purchased what’s called chalk paint, removed the doors and knobs, drug the dang thing to the carport and painted… and painted… and painted.  Three stinkin’ coats.  And then, each morning for a week, I’d rise early to put on a coat of shellac before work.  With rain coming, Michelle begrudgingly helped me shove the beast back into the basement one Tuesday afternoon several weeks into the project.  I propped the doors on a ledge.  Two days later one fell and the paint chipped in four spots. 

“$%^%&^^%%.”

I repainted the door three times and again, awoke to shellac.  Shellac, shellac, shellac.  I HATE shellac.  My nostrils hurt from shellac.

With great might, we lay the beast down in the Budget rent a truck and drove her to DC. 

When we arrived, it was discovered that DJ’s bedroom was on the third floor of this new, err old, home.  A human with slightly large bones or a couple of extra lbs on the hips would struggle to fit up the two 19 step stairwells and could hardly make the 340 degree angle at the top into the bannistered hallway.  I had no idea how we might get this enormous piece of furniture from floor one to floor three, especially with the muscle group I had assembled:  Julie, DJ and Michelle.  A boy was called over.  He was skinny.

When I discovered that one of DJ’s roommates had movers bringing in her belongings (I won’t even go there but seriously who gets movers for a 23-year-old? They simply can’t have that much stuff yet.), I devised a plan.

As they pulled up, I had the clan of five drag the beast to the bottom of the steps.  As the Mayflower men walked in, we were strategically on about step 14 between floors one and two.  The two gentlemen, picture the Rock, ran to our rescue.  We attempted to help, but they scoffed at us.  Within seconds the Beast was resting peacefully in DJ’s bedroom ready to be filled with fleece and wool. I tipped them $40 which was the best money I’ve spent in years.

When the time comes to move again, the Beast will again be relocated.  But next time, perhaps in little pieces and perhaps to the landfill.

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2 Comments

  1. Aunt Susan

     /  October 9, 2020

    Well how exciting for DJ to be in an old house. I love living in those. And just think only 2 more kids to move around!

    Reply

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