The Hubband just finished cleaning the toilet in my pretty purple bathroom. I'm trying not to get all defensive about it. I tend to do that (You don't say?) when I feel guilty about the amount of work he does around her compared to the amount of work I do around here. In the end, I think it balances out pretty evenly and is mostly due to the fact that he does a lot of things I wouldn't do unless company was coming to visit. (And maybe not even then.) I did, however, spend an hour purging and organizing the hall closet. Now, when I open the doors, things don't fall on my head. I also took the silverware tray out of the drawer, cleaned it, cleaned under it, and put all the silverware back in it, except for the stuff I purged from that drawer. (Replace the word "silverware" with the word "flatware", 'cause y'all know I am not that fancy.) These types of chores become my periodic duties because Hubband is physically incapable of putting things back where he got them.

I'm also feeling a little guilty because I told the man, once and for all, that I will not be going to Florida with him in November. I'm sorry. I cannot do it. There are a lot of places I'd like to go, but Jax during hurricane season is not one of them. And then to be told that I can drive down to visit his family while he's at the football game? Huh? Nope. If I make one more trip to Florida, I'll have to start counting with both hands and that is way, way too many times for me.

Okay, and the idea of six days in control of my own destiny is pretty enticing as well.

My boy is turning into a teenager right before my eyes. He's actually starting to "backtalk" his saintly mother. He got a D+ on his math quiz, which he swears he studied for and is his best subject. I asked him to go get the mail today and he says, "I already did you a favor and got the paper." So glad I'm not my father, because he was standing on the stairs at the time and probably would have broken his neck when I backhanded him. Instead, I just repeated myself and shoveled more chips into my mouth.

It was so cold at work today, I had to put on a sweater. Gotta love that! I'm never cold. Then I got to experience that really wonderful sensation of getting into a car that's been overheated by the sun all day. I love that feeling like I can't get enough of the warm. Like a cozy blanket when I'm sick. Like a hot-stone massage. I can feel all the achiness of the day melt away. And now it's evening and it's cool again. I'm not at all looking forward to the eighties the rest of the week.

Canadians are every bit as polite as they say. Everytime I speak to one of our Ontario teammates, they ask about the weather. One woman I speak to at least five times a day and each time, it's how am I doing and how is the weather and I just work so much harder than she ever did. (Which must be true, because I never have that kind of time to spend chatting on the phone.) They are actually all very nice and I am far too impatient with them. I should not be talking to someone old enough to be a great-grandmother as if she were a tiny child. No matter how much she reminds me of one.

Did I mention that my across the street neighbor (he's a funeral director and his nickname is "Digger", get it?) painted the inside of his garage the most incredibly garrish yellow. This has totally ruined the view from my office window. There should be a law. Otherwise, he's a very nice person.

I had been thinking a lot about my friend who lives near Miami. For some reason she's just been on my mind. Then tonight I got a phone call from her telling me she's divorcing her third husband. Unfortunately, this did not come as a surprise to me. I was supportive, but in reality I think it is more her than them. (Except for the cross-dresser. That was definatly him.) At least her son has moved down there now, which is probably what's given her the courage to move on. I thought something was up the last time she called because all she wanted to talk about was me. That's really not like her.