The Fussy Crankypants, like certain stones, cannot really be said to be gathering moss.
This is moss. A lot of it.
The Fussys have been married, oh, a number of years now, and in those years they have moved 6 times, which does not include changing houses. Two of those moves were overseas and involved moves within the move, so to speak, themselves.
The longest the Fussys have stayed in any one place is exactly 3.5 years, which is how long they have been, fussily funnily enough, in their current fair city.
The Fussys enjoy their city. They like the hills. They like their little town and the places they walk. They like their little house, which is delightful in its own small way, such as the unevenly heating rooms or the steep stairs their Tiny Tyrant is just yearning to explore freely and with freedom or the emergency vehicles that frequently whiz by, no holds barred. Mrs FC particularly likes her garden. And she likes the people she has met and hung out with here.
But the Fussys, sad to say it, have no friends. At the very best, the Fussys could be said to be reserved. They could also said to be lacking the energy it takes to go out and make new friends (see: Tiny Tyrant, one; prodigious pwers of not sleeping, many).
The Fussys have many friends from their undergrad years who live not 2 hours north of them.
The Fussys are tempted.
The Fussys are contemplating.
The Fussys are contemplating giving up a steady job with good benefits, a nice house w/ garden in a quiet, safe community from which they can walk many, many places in order to pack up all their BOOKS and other things (and by things, Mrs Fussy means all the tonnage of items she has collected here and there and CANNOT POSSIBLY BEAR to part with), paint and polish and clean, and care for the Tiny Tyrant all the while and move perhaps not once but twice before settling in a place that they don’t really know much about assuming Mr FC can actually get employment and all because
they have friends up there.
Really nice ones who hang out with them because they feel sorry for the Fussys and their social ineptness.
Mrs Fussy Crankypants is up and down about this but if there is one thing that Mrs FC has learned in all her years of being a relative vagabond it is that there is nothing certain in life and you can pretty much choose your own destiny (w/in certain parameters, that is) and if you don’t try, you’ll never know how it could have been.
Packing is one royal pain in the patootey.