It was almost like he was possessed.

So there I was chilling in the backyard when Jeff burst out the door saying, “We should make an outdoor brick oven!”

“Sure,” I said, confident that he was talking rubbish and disagreeing with him would be akin to saying irregardless, cancelling each other out with the double negative.

He was dead serious. Next thing I heard was the sound of his whipper snipper being cranked to life, annihilating the weeds on the patch of land he claimed a stake to. Leaf fragments blown everywhere while I tried to continue reading my book in peace.

I thought I could escape from the lunacy. Thought I could just be a spectator to his mad genius and simply sit there in the sun sipping tea since I’m out of whisky.

But, no.

Magicians are nothing without their little side kicks, right. In this case, I was the f%cking bunny. The other star of the goddamn show, superior only to the velvet backdrop. The one he pulled out of his hat and out of my reverie to ask me to do some fancy tricks like carry heavy bricks back and forth to his project site but I gotta do it fast because pure cement was expensive but the quick-set concrete he got at Bunning’s should work just as well as his DIY pizza oven. Fingers crossed.

Look, I love the dude. I didn’t mind the work, to be honest. But let’s call a spade a spade: I’m not cut out to be a builder. I’m too soft for it. And even if I wasn’t, I doubt I’d have any interest in that sort of job.

I mean, I’d probably just be a bodybuilder by day, moonlighting as a drag queen at night.

*Raven at 3 years old

On a side note…

*makes mi goreng. Serves it to the husband and calls it lunch.

*pats myself on the back for a job well done.

*husband contemplates divorce.