First of all, I spell it “labor”, not “labour”. I know, I’m in Canada now. But I refuse to accept theatre or “being in hospital”. Whatever happened to going to THE hospital?
Friday I closed up shop looking forward to the three day weekend ahead; not that there was something amazing planned. Just being not at the store was enough. I had planned with someone to go see a movie friday night since John was going to be off doing something else. It never happened and it became readily apparent I was “stood up” by this friend of mine. I sat at home and watched a few Gunsmoke episodes on Youtube between going out and throwing the ball around for the dog. Bummer.
Saturday we went up to Huntsville to have lunch with a friend and his wife and 2 year old son. When Hokie wasn’t begging for the burgers we ate (sorry mom), she was off swimming after ducks in the lake that met the backyard. Kevin’s (our friend) cousins were up from Minnesota (they live in Michelle Bachmann’s district, right next door to Mr. Bachmann’s pray-the-gay-away clinic) with their 2 infants. Kevin’s son sat in the sandbox for most of the afternoon, pouring sand in his hair like our cat bathes himself. He also made a game of being afraid of Hokie; whenever she got to within 10 feet of him, he’d run to his mother and jump into her arms with half-assed crying.
On the way home I get a text from friend #1 from Friday night: “Can I borrow the car”? The excuse was pretty bad, enough to make both of us immediately suspicious of the motives and to make John downright angry (something about protecting my gullibility).
I found out later on that the reason he wanted to borrow my car was to apologize for the movie screw-up.
Sunday John and I went to Barrie to re-vamp our wardrobes. John managed to spend more on 1 pair of jeans than I spent on like 4 articles of clothing (call me cheap?). I must have witnessed three or four instances of why I’m glad I’m not a teenager anymore: the mother yelling at son to hurry up and just pick out some clothes and “no one will care what you look like,” and the son standing there, arms crossed, looking an angry guard at a Nazi deathcamp. On the way home, Steve, our contractor, invited us to stop by for some beers. The movie re-do had been cancelled again, due to son-mother argument (probably about clothes), so I continued to drink the free beer that continued to be handed to me. I think I had a conversation with a native Indian; but I recall an incident where Steve got pissed at a woman because he thought she was being rude if John and I were gay. After explaining that the Pope doesn’t care being called Catholic, tensions eased and Steve passed out in the nether-regions of his 400sq foot apartment; nicely renovated, I might add.
As happens when I’ve had a few too many to drink, I decide to call friend #1’s mother to give him a break and let him go to the movie after all. Unfortunately, this involved walking to go get him from work and I was in no shape to drive. My footsteps going up the street from the apartment to our store probably resembled a lie-detector test readout..not exactly a straight line.
After walking all the way, we had a good discussion about how to treat your friends, etc. (I have a customer who actually says “etcetera”, annoyingly at the end of most every sentence he speaks). The movie didn’t happen, but he drove my car back to his place (after picking John up, who also did the same jagged walk down the street).
The next around noon he drives it back but says we can’t go out to lunch afterall since his dad wanted him to go help pick up a few loads of firewood. The car was cleaner than it’s been since the day I got it. I was instructed to never let Hokie ride on the leather again.
I offered to help with the firewood. Four hours later we arrived back at their place and they fed me dinner. Friend #1’s sister made me a most excellent strawberry/banana crepe, with chocolate syrup, maple syrup, whip cream and ice cream on the side.
Previous blog probably proven wrong by everything mentioned above.
One of my better weekends.