Life is good

That’s true here as well. Having had a truck all my adult life it would be difficult for me to switch to a car unless it was a fun sports car type.

Almost done. Ran out of daylight. I’ll be done with fence tomorrow. The hot tub is actually all set minus salt water I believe. Probably be ready monday. I will probably do a walkway to it. Although, it is 5 feet from the patio so not too long.

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That’s gorgeous, Dan. Nice job!


I feel like the hot tub has shifted to the back of the pad. I’ll remeasure in a week. Its fine now. If it did and continues to, that would be catastrophic. I will probably move it more towards the front when it gets drained. I don’t think the thing is moving. It weighs something like 3800 lbs full. I’m glad it’s almost over. A stupid stress for the last 2+ months. Minor stress compared to real problems. Probably the first luxury item I’ve bought ever. Actually, my wife bought it. I guess my house and car are luxury. Depends on your definition of luxury.

Thx Michele!

I bet that beast sprouted centipede legs and moved on its own.

You’re just being lazy. You obvious don’t have enough honey do’s.

Sounds like you need to look into purchasing good insurance.

I would move it more to the right but that’s just me. You do you.

I don’t think so either. Run out there and check it.

Me too.

Yeah, just keep an eye on any movement.

It’s the price you pay for marital peace.

Yeah, like PMS.

If you have children it may very well be your last.

Wow! You freeloaded.

I’ll check with Word Cop Will and get back with ya.

Bored Michele?

Of you? Yes

Ok, that made me chuckle.

Really? Why?

Good morning Michele.

I imagine you must be in your housecoat and slippers.

Or perhaps you’re changing into overalls for you morning chores.

Now I see you out collecting eggs and slicing off a slab of pork belly in the smokehouse,

Now, you are collecting wood to fire up the stove and shucking off your clodhoppers in the mudroom.

Dusty begins to stir. Scratching and farting he calls your name loudly.

He wants his coffee NOW but you neglected to clean out the clinkers from the stove yesterday and he’s just gonna have to wait. Dusty doesn’t like to wait.

His grumpy tone stirs something deep inside you and you go to wash between your toes. The water is cold but you are not. A feather from the henhouse drifts from your hair down into the tub.

The fire is lit and the coffee is on. A knock on the door. Who the hell can that be? You slip a little on a piece of pork belly fallen, unnoticed onto the floor. Dusty calls your name. More insistent now. You hesitate, torn between your wifely duty and your neighborly courtesy.

Here ends installment one.

You know me well. Obviously, too well.

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