Ok, peoples; I realize it’s late, but here’s the call. I need to fill a moving truck this Saturday, and to accomplish that I need boots on the ground. U-haul being their usual extra-awesome, I don’t know exactly when I’m going to get the truck, but I’m wagering it’s going to be in the morning sometime. Arlene and I are moving our stuff, at long and precious last, to the dark wilds of Toronto.
So, let’s say you show up at ten-thirty or so in the morning this coming Saturday, at our humble but spacious isolated mountain fortress in Westboro, Ottawa, Canada.
Understand, I am speaking purely in the hypothetical, here, but:
If you were to do so, and provide my lovely wife and I with the climbing-up-and-down-stairs-carrying-stuff laboring that we are so deeply loathe to do by our ever-so-lonesomes, I will reward your generous efforts with the pizza and beer they so richly deserve.
That you, my friend, that you so richly deserve.
So anyway, yeah. 10:30 or so, Saturday morning, here. There’s a nontrivial possibility that there will be some hanging-around-shooting-the-breeze scheduled in there because as I mentioned it’s U-haul, and there’s just no telling with those guys, so there we are.
Your help would be appreciated, and I promise your afternoon nap will be a rich and pleasant one, with a belly full of beer and pizza and a spirit full of my thinking you’re awesome.
Inform me: by your comments, I will know!