Kelly Conaboy is writing an advice column for Dipp readers. It's going to be very serious. So serious, in fact, we named it Very Serious: An Advice Column by Kelly Conaboy. Just email her at kelly.conaboy@gmail.com with your most crucial conundrums and each week, Kelly will solve one lucky reader's biggest problem in life. Previously, Kelly has tackled the stars, how to buy a couch, how to get over a break up, how to ghost, how to update your computer, and how to ditch your friends' babies. This week, it's all about moving.

Dear Kelly,

What do you think the cutoff is for asking friends to help you with manual labor, age-wise? I’m moving soon.

From,

Alexandra

Twenty-four.

Love,

Kelly, just kidding, I’ll keep talking. I remember the days when I was on call to help my friends move. I would say the event happened annually between the ages of 19 and 25, and it was horrible. I was friends with a good amount of straight men at the time and one of them in particular did not think it was necessary to “waste money” on boxes, so he would just not pack, leaving his friends to carry, like, an armful of rolled up posters into his new fifth-floor walkup apartment, knowing that after that they had to go back down to the U-Haul to grab one lamp; one more belonging in a sea of loose belongings. I legitimately remember him carrying up an armful of shoes.