How it Started…
Moving is supposed to be about fresh starts. New walls, new windows, maybe a new chance to finally remember where you put the tape gun. But for one Hamilton couple, the story of buying moving supplies wasn’t just a shopping trip — it was a battlefield. And from the wife’s point of view, it’s a comedy of errors that only marriage could survive.
The Mission Begins
It started simply enough. They needed boxes, tape, bubble wrap, and maybe those fancy wardrobe cartons you only ever see in glossy real estate brochures. She wrote a list. He shrugged at it. Together, they set off to the nearest hardware store in Hamilton, a place she knew would have everything neatly organized and ready to go.
Except it wasn’t. The first store had “sold out of moving boxes” weeks ago. The second store only stocked “extra-large” boxes, the kind that could hold a refrigerator or perhaps all of the husband’s stubbornness. And the third store had boxes, sure — but priced them like they were made of mahogany.
A Battle of Logic and “Logic”
She suggested ordering supplies online. He reminded her, in his practical tone, that “shipping boxes in a box defeats the purpose.” She reminded him, in her exasperated tone, that “we don’t need a TED Talk, we need tape.”
By the time they stumbled into yet another Hamilton shop, the husband had become obsessed with the idea of finding a “deal.” Never mind that the gas burned driving store to store had already doubled the budget. He inspected each roll of tape as though he were testing military-grade equipment. She just wanted tape that stuck.
Bubble Wrap as a Weapon
When they finally found bubble wrap, the argument reached new heights. He grabbed the biggest roll, announcing it would “last forever.” She pointed out they’d be drowning in it until their grandchildren’s grandchildren moved out. In retaliation, he began popping bubbles one by one while she paid, a soundtrack of defiance echoing down the checkout lane.
Boxes, Broken Promises, and Broken Patience
Back at the car, they realized the boxes wouldn’t fit in the trunk without folding them in half. Folding boxes, of course, defeats their one job. She told him this. He pretended not to hear. They wedged them in anyway, doors barely shutting, the car looking like it was wearing cardboard shoulder pads.
On the drive home, she reflected: maybe moving supplies weren’t the problem. Maybe this was just what marriage was — a long string of mismatched priorities, poor packing strategies, and a man who thinks haggling with a cashier at a big-box store is “worth a try.”
The Moral of the Story
In the end, they got the supplies. Not the right ones, not the cheapest ones, but supplies nonetheless. And when she tells the story, it won’t be about the new house in Hamilton or the boxes they eventually packed. It’ll be about the absurd odyssey of trying to buy moving supplies with a man who treats Scotch tape like a life-or-death decision.
Because moving may test your patience, but marriage tests your sense of humour.
