Saturday evening, I had to go to some photography exhibit of my estranged aunt. I didn't want to go, but Mom needed someone to take her, so there I was. Tickets were ten bucks.
I didn't want to go in the first place, but I was a bit annoyed that I had to stop housework at four, so I could get ready for this thing. My job this weekend was to replace a few broken boards on the back deck, and then get them stained and sealed with waterseal. So on Saturday, I raced around for my usual errands, started working on the house late, and then had to quit early to get ready. Not happy -- this left far too much to do on Sunday.
Anyway, we get there, and Mom had the wrong address. She was in charge of all that. She asked a couple of people, they had no idea what we were looking for. She called her sister, who by then were (of course) not home. So we turned right around and went home.
Total waste of time.
I wasn't happy. But I was a good boy, and didn't say one word about it. But apparently, even me keeping my yap firmly shut about it doesn't protect me from comments about how annoyed I was. Well, yes. I was annoyed. But if I don't say one word about it -- what else am I supposed to do?
So yesterday, I woke up early for Paris-Roubaix, and then worked on the deck. Got the rest of the boards done, did the cleaning between the boards, another thorough sweeping, and then a couple of hours slapping stain down. Too much for one day, and exactly what I wanted to avoid.
The next two weekends are total write-offs, and then comes the Boat, so this job had to be finished before all of that.