Returning from a wonderful four day vacation in New Brunswick catching up with a bunch of friends, I met up with my cousin and her friend from England at the airport in Montreal, and we got home to the farmhouse around 9 pm at night where, after tucking the kids in four times to make up for the nights I missed, we sat and chatted. And not being one to suffer in silence, I regaled the company with the story of the blister I got on my toe from walking along a sandy beach barefoot.
Andrew peered at me over the rim of the glass of scotch he was sipping. (And the violin began playing softly in the background.)
Don’t expect sympathy from me, he said. You got your blister walking along a beach on vacation while I was here with the children working.
I have a blister too, he continued. My blister came from getting hay down my boot while I was piling it in the barn. After I mowed it, raked it, baled it, tossed it, by myself.
My blister, he told us, is a virtuous blister. Unlike your lollygagging, beach walking, vacationing blister, mine came about from hard work….
...and as anyone who knows Andrew well can guess, he was off on one of his amusing rants that leave his listeners in puddles of tears.
I hate it when he makes me laugh like that! It's not very ladylike to snort wine through your nose.
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