All the good news like near full employment and booming business rather passed me by this evening as I was driven to my knees building flat pack furniture. Most furniture in Canada, apart from bed, sofas and the like comes as a flat pack. Tables, chairs, bookcases, shelf units the lot.
Mrs S was sitting watching while I simultaneously cooked the dinner and built two shelf units, all the while making helpful comments like "Does it have to go in that way?" or "Mind your fingers!" or "I didn't want it there." Divorces have been occasioned by such imprecations and I'm sure it was Mrs Crippens constant carping about the wallpaper and Dr Crippens prowess as an interior decorator that led to her untimely demise.
No matter, the apartment is furnished, the Windstar insured, and we're off to see the immigration people tomorrow. My wife wants to be told (For about the fifth time) that she can stay in Canada without having to leave the country every six months, and yes she can take a job. Sometimes I wonder if she's not looking for someone to say no. This is driving me ever so slightly crazy. If when she gets told everything is okay tomorrow, she goes looking for yet another opinion it's going to be "Pass me the straitjacket love, I'm going to invoke the repatriation clause of the travel insurance about mental health."
Then they can flat pack me in the hold of a 747 and drop me out at 35,000 feet because I'll have lost the will to live.