It’s always the same. One minute you’re getting hammered because you drive an “urban assault vehicle”, and the next it’s “Hey, we’re moving this weekend . . .”
Should have just said no, but as usual, I said yes.
I have no idea what they planned to do about the fridge, which was full of left-over
lentil burgers, remnants of breezer six-packs and half-eaten tins of dog food. And the smell.
They looked disappointed when I grabbed the washing machine, and someone to help
me get it outside.
We noticed something in the machine just as I went to close the tailgate. As I reached in and unfurled it, I knew instantly it was the dog blanket – this was confirmed by a blood-curdling growl behind us.
I threw the blanket as hard as I could, and it caught the dog mid-leap. We jumped in the front of the car, and I floored it.
Should have closed the tailgate, though.