It Takes A Family To Raise A Shed

 

The Good News:  We finally bought a new shed for the Hub’s prized crap.  Way back in April, I think.

The Bad News:  We had to erect it.

The Bad News:  And we needed help.

The Good News:  We have two strong sons.

The Bad News:  One of whom hardly lived here.

The Bad News:  It rained for months, so we couldn’t put it up.

The Good News:  It rained for months, so we couldn’t put it up.

The Good News:  The sun came out; the son came home.

The Bad News: For a few days; for a few days.

The Good News:  We did it!

The Bad News:  Look at the mess we left!

You may have wondered why you’ve hardly heard from me again this week.  I have been busy, busy, busy – once I off-loaded my visitors, I helped Tory Boy pack to leave and helped Spud and Tory Boy put up the shed.   Even under the Hub’s expert and irritating direction (given his ME, it’s all we will allow him to do and that makes him irritable), it took a week.  We had to fit it in around Tory Boy’s goodbye visits (which seemed to involve a lot of drinking and pizzas) to his many friends.

We put the shed up in stages:

• Build the base
• Add flooring
• Raise the sides
• Raise the roof (me; ready to throttle the thwarted Hub)
• Then – the biggie – move it across the garden.
• We didn’t build it on the spot and although the Hub explained to me why that was so, I’m no wiser now though I am reaching the point of sleeping in the spare room – I have a spare room! – so I don’t end up sleeping in a prison cell.

However, despite my fractured marriage, the shed is up and in position.   Here is the view from my back door:

Seriously?

I suspect it went there so the Hub could giggle away to himself that I won the battle (a shed for his crap) but he won the war (a monster outbuilding to annoy the missus).

Surely a jury would let me off on the grounds of provocation?

A gallery for you:

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Joke 505

This was doing the rounds in an email.  I have no idea if it is true or a joke.  I’d like to think it’s for real.

When Albert Einstein was on the speaker’s circuit, he usually found himself longing to get back to his laboratory work. One night as they were driving to yet another rubber-chicken dinner, Einstein mentioned to his chauffeur (a man who somewhat resembled Einstein in looks and manner) that he was tired of speechmaking.

“I have an idea, boss,” his chauffeur said. “I’ve heard you give this speech so many times, I bet I could give it for you.”

Einstein laughed and said, “Why not? Let’s do it!”

When they arrived at the dinner, Einstein donned the chauffeur’s cap and jacket and sat in the back of the room.  The chauffeur gave a beautiful rendition of Einstein’s speech and even answered a few questions expertly.

Then a supremely pompous professor asked an extremely esoteric question about anti-matter formation, digressing here and there to let everyone in the audience know that he was nobody’s fool.  Without missing a beat, the chauffeur fixed the professor with a steely stare and said, “Sir, the answer to that question is so simple that I will let my chauffeur, who is sitting in the back, answer it for me.”