Last Friday night as Harry finished his zillioneth helicopter flight and I was shelling peanuts, he asks, "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"Cleaning. Dusting. Vacuuming. Laundry. The whole nine yards. The dust is two inches thick, like fresh snow. I could practice for the Winter Olympics' slalom ski races on the end tables. That's what I'm doing. So what are your plans?" I ask.
Ladies, please note his answer.
Saturday morning Mr. Wide-Awake-As-Soon-As-His-Eyes-Open, jumps out of bed and announces, "I'm going to paint the spare room."