I have lost my cotton picking mind...

There. I said it. This was to have been an entry about the final push of purging the living room of what had been the Manly Wall of Entertainia. Perhaps the blog is as sick of hearing about it as all of you surely must be, because every few seconds the font size in that entry reset to very big or very small. Just know that we had to get *that desk* up the stairs, and that Didgeridoo Boy swore *that desk* wasn't going to go while I swore it would. As it turns out, he and I have different definitions of sideways; his involves backs and fronts, and mine involves sides. I'm sure you can figure out where our first round of difficulties took place. And then I somehow sat it on his foot, and got my end stuck on a step. But with much care and rough language, we managed to wrangle *that desk* up to its new home in the storage room.

Didgeridoo Boy was bribed into cooperating with this week's activities with dinner and a refreshed beer supply. To be frank, I care not one whit about the dinner - all I want is to be on the deck with a cold one, savoring the knowledge that I was right. I'll be jotting out on a round of errands in just a few minutes.