People have been asking me for the past couple weeks, "Are you going to miss Steph when you guys move out of your apartment?" and "How are you and Steph going to survive without each other?" For everyone who has asked me this and to whom it may concern: yes, I am going to miss her, but I am absolutely over the moon that I don't have to live with that slob pig any longer. I couldn't get out of there any faster and it's gonna take a lot of convincing for me to live with her again next off season.

Moving is the worst. It's an absolute nightmare combination of physical labor and mental stress. Picking stuff up, putting it in boxes, carrying the boxes, packing the boxes into bigger boxes, collecting useless knick-knaks, trash removing, the list goes on and on. So, if you are someone who typically steers away from doing the menial household chores, you'll be about as good at moving as Sam is at "going with the flow."

This brings me to Steph. We all know there's nothing Steph hates more than manual labor. Every time I confront her about this issue, she tells me that she's the "idea and big picture guy" so she "doesn't have time to focus on the small stuff." On move out day, she did everything in her power not to lift a finger. She hired movers, which I'll admit, is a normal thing to do when moving halfway across the country. But wanna know what's not normal? Having your mother, who- side note- is currently away with her friends in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, call you and offer to get her a "Task Rabbit" to help with the move.

For those of you who don't know what a Task Rabbit is, it's a person you hire to come and do "tasks" for you... we'll leave it at that. So I walk into the apartment, exhausted from workout, and all I want to do is eat, shower, and pack up my apartment like a normal person. I stumble in to find a random man, roughly our age, cleaning out the kitchen cabinets that I had assigned Steph to clean up. Yes. Stephanie assigned her tasks to a stranger for a small fee.

I look over to the TV area to find Steph in long, see-through men's adidas tights and an old Patriots tee-shirt, grimacing as she flops around on a lacrosse ball to loosen up her hip flexers. Her task rabbit continues to rip through the kitchen, obeying Stephanie's demands through the wincing of her myofascial release. So I listen to things like, "Just bag up everything in the bathroom and throw it away," and "If your girlfriend wants any of these sneakers she can have them." The icing on the cake? As the Task Rabbit wraps up and Steph is paying him, she has the AUDACITY to say, "Thank you so much, I hate moving it's such a pain in the ass." Excuse me? What's a pain in the ass? Having to give commands while you role out your glutes? You wouldn't have lasted a goddamn second in Whitman-Hanson High School's athletic program. We Panthers pull our own weight.

I'm just laughing at her at this point as she walks around the apartment aimlessly pretending to do things. I honestly don't think she got one thing accomplished. I asked her to clean out her protein cabinet at least five times. I ended up doing it. I asked her if she wanted any of the pots and pans. She said she didn't want any of them. When she realized I was doing all the work, she would try to reward me by saying, "Kristie, you can have the almond butter" and "I want you to take the trash bin". Thanks Steph! That's so nice of you. Apparently it would make it easier on me when I got to DC to just have all the pots and pans and essentials I needed. But I saw right through her. She just wanted to get out of packing them. And then unpacking them again in Chicago.

The vet shows up. My dad. Bob fricken Mewis. A packing savant. Its the old fashioned way or the highway with him. If there was a professional league for amateur moving efficiency, my dad would be in it.

I'm disgusted with Steph's fraudulence of only starting to help once my Dad arrives in an attempt to try to impress him. She's trying but she is just severely under qualified to be moving with the Mewis'. Want a good laugh people? Watch a country-club going private schooler try to carry an ottoman. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Bob and I packed up that U-Haul perfectly like pros, hooked on my trusty old green Hyundai sonata to the back of it and took off for a 9-hour drive. Didn't look back once. See ya, Stephie! I'll FaceTime you from my living room that doesn't have any of your socks or empty Starbucks in it.