Spare Us, Lord.

Moving is one thing. Packing up all your earthly possessions, schlepping up and down the stairs carrying furniture like a pack mule. But doing it as a gimp is the pits.

 Your dad and I had to ice our injuries after just an hour of moving stuff downstairs. But he wouldn't let me photograph him because he said, "My chest hasn't seen the light of day in years," which was not an exaggeration.

Oh, and here's the forecast. Thanks, future.