You know how it is.
You have this wonderful four-day weekend planned. A weekend when you're going to get all kinds of things done. A weekend when you're going to clean like a banshee, do laundry like a servant girl, and above all, PUT UP THE WALLPAPER IN THE HALLWAY.
Oh yes, the plans, they are many. The goals, they are lofty. The heights to which you will fly will require oxygen just to keep you breathing, because this, my friends, is YOUR WEEKEND TO SHINE.
And then the first call comes.
"We really need you to work Friday night, all day Saturday and all day Sunday on a special project which will pay megabucks to your dwindling bank account, and, oh yes, provide you with a means to pay the speeding ticket you got a month ago that is already overdue. Are you interested?"
So there goes two of the four days.
But hey, there's still time to complete those tasks, right???
And then you work the two-and-a-half days in a row. And you decide to sleep in on Monday, because you are WORN SLICK from All The Working. And "in" turns out to be ALL DAY. And so another day is gone.
And then the second call comes.
"I'd really like to spend a couple of days at your house if it wouldn't be too much trouble...." says the Dear MIL. At 92 you know there won't be all that many more chances for her to spend a couple of days with you. Besides, she's cooped up in her house and lonely. And you can still get things done with her here, so you get Son's bedroom ready for her and Hubster picks her up.
And you sleep in on Tuesday, confident in your plans to still accomplish something with the weekend.
And then you get another visitor. One with revenge in his soul. One with a singular goal of making you empty your entire body of every fluid known to man by way of the south end. One brought on by that demon of all demons to the over-fifty crowd.....CORN.
Still determined to salvage something from the weekend, you manage to do a couple of loads of laundry before collapsing on the couch. Gone are the grand aspirations for the weekend. Gone are the dreams of sweeping and mopping and dusting and polishing and wallpapering. Gone are the hopes for a cleaner tomorrow.
But it isn't all bad.
Where else could you have a reason to lounge around on the couch all day and be taken care of by Hubster?
Nope, it's not all bad at all. Even with a few monkeywrenches thrown in.