Movezilla, or My First "Win"

I'm really proud of my wife.

During our whole engagement/wedding-planning, she never broke down.  She never had a Bridezilla moment. It was a trying experience, throwing everything together in a matter of days.  B.'s mom had a ball planning the reception and it was really great just walking in to see everything set up; we had given her pretty free reign to do what she wanted.  We honestly just didn't care for much of the traditions.

She bought the first dress she tried on for under $200.  We got our own cake, our reception DJ was an iPod, and our "line" lasted maybe ten minutes.  People kind of lingered at our reception, it was a pretty relaxed party setting; we were both pretty ignorant/apathetic about wedding traditions.  She tossed her bouquet, but we snagged our then 1-year-old niece's headband to use as a garter.  Our slicing of the cake quickly escalated into a brief food fight.It was a fun day that could only have been improved by some granola bars in my suit pocket to sustain us during our photo ops after the ceremony.


But the wedding was the least of our concerns that week.

B.'s favorite number is five, so naturally we got married on May fifth (5/5).  On May fourth we moved her and all of her stuff into our new apartment, met with family and friends and got settled into our new quarters.  On May third B. had finals.

The days before that were a chaotic blur of keeping track of what boxes I had already driven up to the house with me from my last visit, her desperately cramming for finals while simultaneously babysitting the aforementioned adorable albeit high-energy niece.  B. was at the end of her rope.  And it showed in her texts.  I tried to be supportive; I've moved enough that I wasn't too stressed about it, I just wanted the wedding to go well.

She texted me about a book she couldn't find.  I found it in one of the boxes I had brought up and informed her.  She told me to put it in the car and take a picture of said book in said car as photographic proof I wouldn't forget it.

I never had a Bridezilla.  But moving brought out her panic.

And finals didn't help either.

In a culmination of stress and miscommunication, she discovered a small moleskine notebook containing journal entries, important memories, a treasured recipe as well as other vital information was nowhere to be found.  Trying to be the supportive fiancee in this her time of distress, I dutifully began emptying the handful of boxes I had stuffed into the car before returning home a week ago, diligently searching for the lost notebook.  I scoured each box, checked inside each one by one, sending her pictures on my phone of each book set out on our carpet.

Still no notebook. 

Now, her camel had been suffering numerous chiropractic issues lately, but this really did break the poor beast's back.

It all collapsed onto her.  She wouldn't pass her finals and would have to pay back her federal grant money, she'd lose all of her stuff in the move, she wouldn't transfer her credits to her new school successfully, she wouldn't find a new job in her new town, she wouldn't fit in her dress, the car would break down, the planets would align to her complete and utter ruin.

Movezilla.

I had had enough of this long distance crap, and I hated hearing her under such duress, unable to do anything myself except check the boxes a fourth time.  When at last I came down to pick her up, move all of her stuff into the moving truck and take her away, we began packing up the rest of her books and clothes.

While B. was in her closet taking down clothes to fit into boxes, I found some old boxes we had packed over a week earlier lined against her bedroom wall.  These I had left behind because I hadn't had room in our little sedan last time.

In a gloriously epiphanic moment, I tore away the lid of the produce box we had pilfered from a grocery store to carry her books.  And there it sat, comfortably nestled between a similar moleskine and a book on hiking.

"Aha!"  I declared triumphantly, snatching it from the box.

B. ran out to see me holding the recovered notebook victoriously over my head.  She had forgotten about those boxes and that they also had had books in them.  Her sheepish embarrassment at having put me through the ringer quickly turned to smothering me in apologetic kisses.  I, the gloating detective, the giddy fiancee, basked in what I remember as possibly my first "win."  Most of our disagreements are my fault.  But this was one where I wasn't in the wrong!  A rare instance indeed.

I don't blame B.  With the week she'd had, no one could.  I just enjoy recalling a moment in time where I wasn't the cause of a fight or a disaster or a misunderstanding.  She's much better than I am, but neither of us are perfect.

I can't really count something like this as a win.  If we're fighting, there is no winner or loser.  We both apologize, we both make up.  We both lose time wasted on fights.  I'm sure there are instances that have transformed me into an insufferable _______zilla.



What turns you into a ______-zilla?



S