Square Feet Into a Round Hole

Between the bloke and me, he's the one who is good with numbers.  He is an accountant by day and obsessive spreadsheet user by night - he has a spreadsheet down to the dollar with how much money we will have after we close.  Me?  I'm terrible at numbers.

The day after we put in the offer on the house, the bloke left for Europe (yes, it was quite the experience trying to buy a house when one was overseas).  He first traveled to Spain, then onto Scotland.  He gave me a call the first night he was in Scotland and it went a little something like this:

the bird: It's midnight there.  You're in early!
the bloke: No, it's one in the morning.
the bird: Isn't it an 8 hour time difference?
the bloke: Yes.
the bird: So it'd be midnight there.
the bloke: What time is it there?
the bird: Five.
the bloke: And 5 plus 8 is ...
the bird: Twelve.
[silence]
the bird: Please don't tell anyone that just happened.

(And here I am divulging this embarrassing story.  But in my defense, I am great at words.  The bloke, not so much.  He's a terrible speller!  Here are just a few of his misspellings:

plough
realise
neighbour
centre
cheque
sceptical
tyre

Tee hee.  And the Kindle doesn't let him use British English when we play Scrabble.)

With regards to numbers and moving, I'm a bit mind-boggled.  My apartment is 450 square feet.  The bloke's condo is 1,471 square feet.  We have a total of 62 boxes.  We are both at about the same stage of packing.  So far, I have filled 22 boxes.  The bloke has filled 6.  As we've seen, I'm no math genius, but this doesn't seem to add up at all.

Love,
the bird (and the bloke)

P.S. Look how pretty the blooming tree is at the bungalow!