Jim and I decided to take the blanket off the bed when we put clean sheets on just now. Not that it's, you know, warm here or anything -- more just wishful thinking, and the fact that I didn't feel like dealing with putting it back on the bed after removing it to do the sheets.
So we folded it up rather nicely and then I realized, "I have nowhere to put this damn thing." I decided I would shove it into a space roughly a quarter of its actual volume located under the bed.
After a good minute of shoving and grunting, Jim offered to take over, to which I responded, "Hell no. At this point, it's a matter of pride."
I finally got the [redacted] blanket stowed away, thank heavens.
Jim said, "You know, with your arms stuck under the bed like that...It reminded me of...what's that line, you know, from Gone With the Wind?"
We looked at each other, and simultaneously we both burst out with: "I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies!"
And this is what happens when we live in frickin' Maine. We are in such trouble if we move farther south, y'all.