"Wonderful!" He seized me in his grease-stained hands and swung me above his head.
"You won't think it's so wonderful after you've slept on the floor a few nights," I prophesied grimly.
The doorbell rang. "Ah," I said, "it must be the moving vawn."
While two muscular men dismantled the bedroom set and carried it out, I prepared dinner. I had no idea how or where we were going to eat it, but I decided not to face that problem until it came.
It came soon enough. The moving van had gone, taking with it all hope for the next month's nocturnal comfort, and the potatoes were done. The pork chops were brown and sizzling, and the peas were steaming.
I pondered.
Should we put the plates on the kitchen floor and squat around them?
That wouldn't be very comfortable.
I could put the breadboard over the bathroom sink, making a small table out of it. David and I could sit on the edge of the bathtub, and Grant could sit on the--
No, that wouldn't do.