It's here!

Or, rather, it's THERE!

Phone calls we love involve Mr. Abby opening a box-o-carbine for us. Of course, it arrived as the movers are at the Crackhouse collecting our stuff, so they must have thought that was odd.

(Then again, the movers already think we're nuts. They called me this morning, trying to get ahold of the Mister. When the phone rang, I assumed it was Mr. Abby, and answered, "hey, baby!" The moving guy, it seems, does not normally get addressed that way. "Uhhh..." he responded.)

For all his expertise, my husband is not very helpful with this. I asked him to open it and ensure the wood was intact, since apparently there's an occasional cracked stock. So he did.

[sounds of box opening, etc]

"Hey, it looks great," he said.

"Great?"

"Well, about like your other one."

[sigh]

So apparently it's intact, and the stock isn't an utter dog. But the movers have taken his computer, and so it will remain a mystery until they show up out here.

Question for my relationship experts - how bad is it, when your family and pets roll up to your new house, to simply nod and say, "hey" to them, then shove past and burrow through the truck to find and fondle your new gun?