Home at last, home at last, thank God almighty we're home at last.

We arrived home mid afternoon today and got the RV mostly unloaded and have mostly settled into the cottage at the lake. She of the many facial expressions is all burrowed down in her nest watching American Idol. That gives me the evening off. Sort of like the last meal before they march you off to the gallows. Tomorrow morning the metamorphosis will be complete. She of the many facial expressions will emerge from her lair completely changed. What emerges is known as the " Dreaded Yard Boss ". The " Dreaded Yard Boss " will have facial expression #12 on her face. This is a look somewhere between severe stomach distress on the one end and the urge to vomit on the other. The yard is a mess. The grass has developed a fungus and is beyond saving. Everything is filthy. We have been gone over 3 weeks and everything has gone to pot. What am I going to do about it? I never help around the house. I don't care what the yard looks like. I don't care what the house looks lke. I don't care about her. I never talk to her anymore. It looks like Gypsys live here. From that point on it is all downhill after that. She will get the " LOOK " on her face. My only hope is to sweat a lot, hopefully enough to dampen my shirt and smell bad. All the shrubs need trimming. The grass need mowed. The sprinklers need to be run. The yard need fertilizer. The tomatoes need planting. The " Dreaded Yard Boss " is a pitiless creature that sees all. From their vantage point behind the picture window sipping herbal tea in their bathrobe they can see every mistake or sign of sloppiness. From no until this place passes approval my life can only be compared to the slaves in Stalin's Gulag. Only the slaves in Gulag had hope. If they could live out their sentence they would be free. Here in this Gulag there is no hope of freedom. Sigh! I am signing off now to go and face my sentence.