This picture that Ryan's sister, Ali, snapped over Labor Day weekend of Ryan and me cracks me up.
You see Ryan thinks I'm not very strong. (which I'm not) He's helped me move several times from a couple of different cities, but only once was it just the two of us. He was stuck with me as his helper to get the process going. He wanted to get everything loaded up as fast as possible. No lolly-gagging on his watch.
However, I knew my parents were on there way and would arrive in roughly an hour to help out. To me this meant lets just clean up a little bit and wait for Dad to get here and help with the heavy lifting. To Ryan that meant nothing... we had a job to do and why should we wait an hour before getting things going.
My roommate at the time was helping her boyfriend and they were really doing work. I mean, she was helping tote dressers, mattresses, tables, TVs... Ryan didn't want to be out done, so he told me that we were about to move my dresser. I got on one end- Ryan got on the other. We didn't make it too far before I was done.
The thing is I'm sort of petite and Ryan is over six feet tall. He doesn't understand what it's like to be fragile.
From that day on it has really bothered Ryan that I am of no help when it comes to moving large items or lifting heavy objects. He's own his own as far as I'm concerned.
Just a few weeks ago when our new couches were scheduled to come in I told him we needed to move the old couches out (by "we" I meant "he"). He bravely asked for my help which eventually turned into a tiny rant about how weak I am.
I find it amusing, really.
I think that's why I find the above photo so funny. Ryan is toting that heavy cooler, which is no doubt backed to the brim, and thinking "quit acting like you're doing something... you can't even help me tote a dresser 50 yards. So weak." While I am, at the same time, so amused.
Ahhh, Ryan- You got me for life, brah!