We have painters in the house again, this time tackling the Pepto-Bismol pink of Himself's horrid office. The walls were so badly damaged by the previous occupants' inept installation of a television and a shelving unit that the first day of work is nothing but plaster repair.

Himself's sister is minding her grandchildren down the road in Waterloo, so we had supper with her last night. Alas, it appears that she intends to maintain a well-established tradition that drives me nuts: she turns out her husband's wardrobe and gives the clothes he doesn't wear to Himself, whose own wardrobe abounds in items he does not wear! I said, several times, that she should donate these unneeded garments to the Sally Ann or the church rummage sale, but both of them literally ignored me; it was as if I had not spoken.

Aaaaagh!