I know, because I'm the lazy so-and-so who gets tired trying to keep up with him.
Well, maybe "trying" is too vague a term here.
I used to try, when I was younger and still trying to impress him.
Now I only look like I'm trying.
And sometimes I don't even do that.
Like this weekend, for example.
Weekend... pffttt.. that's another relative term. We worked our asses off this weekend. I can hardly wait to go to work so I can sit on mine and recover.
Spent both days this weekend moving final bits of crap from our house in Sundridge to here. We actually, finally, unbelievably, blessedly sold the g.d. Sundridge house (honestly, I was beginning to think the words "you have an offer" would never come out of our agent's mouth), but sold it we did and it closes in two weeks.
We moved most of our crap last fall but left the three sheds full, and the bookcases full, and the bathroom medicine cabinet.. and, well, you know.. all the crap we didn't feel like taking back then kinda got left there.
In the offer the buyers said, "Please remove all personal items." It was a nice way of saying, "TAKE YOUR CRAP."
So, fine. We rented a trailer and went up there on Saturday. Luckily Dave's buddy Richie Ricardo Montabalm and Dave's brother Max Webster were there to help haul stuff. My plate was full entertaining Mackie's wife, Mizz Bonita, breeder of fine pooches. Since I was busy entertaining, I didn't feel obligated to haul stuff.
Unfortunately, I had to help unload.
Today, me and Bootcamp were on our own. I dug Muskoka chairs out of the snowbank and hauled them to the trailer. I made numerous trips from shed to trailer carrying crap. And finally, I had had enough.
Bootcamp gave no indication of being tired.
And I was tired of trying to impress him.
So I said, "Dave, I'm going to go dig that chair out of the snow on the front deck, OK?"
"Yup," he said, making another trek down to the shed.
Me and Misty-dog took a shovel to the front deck, dug a few shovel-fulls -- enough to clear a space on the chair -- and then sat down.
The sun was pouring down, Misty warmed my lap, I closed my eyes and sighed a guilty, blissful sigh.
I almost fell asleep.
A while later, I got up, puffed a bit of metaphorical flour in my face, then trudged around the house to see how Bootcamp was doing.
"Wow," I said, "You're almost done."
What a happy coincidence!
We drove the hour home, spent another hour unloading crap, then made some Kraft Dinner and weinies for dinner. Nectar of the cholesterol gods.
Dave sat down on the couch and turned on "Terminator," the new one that I got him for Christmas.
A few short minutes later, Bootcamp Dave was out like a light.
His Pink Floyd jammie bottoms are kinda slung down like plumber's pants and his bare toes are sticking over the end of the couch.
I'd go over there and tickle them if I didn't think he'd wake up and make me go carry something.