I hate moving.
As a girl, my family moved quite often.
I counted once, and I know that I moved around thirty times from age two through fifteen. I think that I hate moving because I moved so much when I was a child. My partner and I obtained a cute little home when my good friend and I first got married, and I thought that my good friend and I would never have to move, but my partner was offered a unquestionably good job in a town about three hours west of where my good friend and I were living. The pay for the job was double that of what he was currently getting paid, and the hours were much better as well. He simply could not resist, so my good friend and I moved. It was quite the trip. Some men that helped us move accidently broke my china cottageet which was given to me by my Grandma, so I was unquestionably frustrated. Thankfully, my partner was able to repair my china cottageet, despite the fact that I also dropped something. I dropped our only air conditioner. It broke into four substantial pieces. I was hoping that I would be able to glue it back together, but it did not happen. It was truly too destroyed to ever work again. My child saw how frustrated I was about it, so he tried to repair the air conditioner himself which was so sweet, but he was not able to repair it either. It truthfully does not get that warm where my good friend and I live, so my good friend and I only need the air conditioner for about three months out of the year. My partner said that he would stop by the store after work this week and buy us another air conditioner.