On Sunday I was messaging The Pastor to tell him about something but thought I should be polite by asking obligatory questions on his packing progress (he and family are moving homes).
The Pastor: Bad!!! You want to come and help?!
Now, ordinarily, I might have laugh it off or say no for the fun of it just so to purposely annoy him and make him grumble. The Pastor and Wife had been pretty dismissive of previous offers to help, but for some reason, something told me it was a genuine cry for help this time.
I made my way after work to their place to be greeted by mountains of small boxes containing all his books, waiting to be properly sealed to be moved. We've been nagging at him for months with his wife's encouragement to get rid of some of it but he's pretty stubborn about them. It's about 10,000 odd of books.
As the hours passed, his wife and I started to give him more and more dirty looks and talk about him over his head. He kept bringing out more and more boxes of books out of nowhere.
Me: Bro O!!! How many more boxes do you have?!?
The Pastor: 6 more only!
Me: What about that one on top?
The Pastor: ... 7 boxes!!
...
Me: Bro O!!! How many more boxes?
The Pastor: Err... 7 more I think...
Me: YOU said 7 boxes, 7 boxes ago!!!!
The Pastor: ... A few more only a few more... *in a deceptively meek and obviously lying voice*
Me: Grrrr...
It would take heaven to pry him from his books.
Moving pains
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