Allergic To Labor

IN A GENERAL sense, I am allergic to labor. Wait - who am I kidding? I not only break out into hives when even thinking about labor, I take naps on dusty couches. There is no general sense about it - I hate labor.

Lucy don't mind the new floors.

Allergic to Labor would be a great name for a band or album. And I'd get the Canadian side of the family involved by calling it Allergic 2 Labour. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Sheryl and I spend the better part of 60 hours a week "labouring" at Second String Music. So when Sunday afternoon rolled around on our only day off, she decided to tear up the carpet in the dining room, and I mowed our weeds. We did a bunch of rearranging, gutter surgery and general cleanup. Monday night I mowed again, because the weeds are thick this year.

The floors in the dining room look okay and may need a little TLC to bring them back to life. Now she is threatening to rip up the living room carpet.

Hoser thinks he's working!

Last night our vacuum cleaner bit the dust. Get it? Bit the dust? Allergic to humour, too. Anyway, we've discovered having three dogs means vacuuming up massive amounts of their "essence" as Sheryl likes to put it. Sucking up pounds of dog hair from dirty carpet means vacuums have short lives around here.

So Sheryl went out and bought another one, which does a great job of essence elimination. Geez those carpets are filthy.

It's OK. I'm allergic to carpet destruction and Sheryl isn't. Somebody gimme a pill and an extra "U" for Hoser purposes, and I'll deal with it.

GUUH.