Life after Jeffrey

Jeffrey moved last weekend. Well, I guess you could say he moved. Kind of depends on what you mean by "move."

If by "move" you mean "forsake the comfort of Kurt & Tony's spare bedroom for a drafty in-law unit in an overcrowded, noisy, tumbledown neighborhood in south Berkeley," well, yeah, he moved.

But if by "move" you mean "get all your crap out of our house," well, I'd have to say he didn't quite rise to that particular standard.

All week long he's been saying to me, "Big Daddy" did you happen to notice where I left my cheese grater?"

"Hell, I dunno, Jeffrey. Maybe you left it the same place you left your meat cleaver, your galoshes, your novelty M&M dispenser, your Parcheesi game, your miniature golf trophy and the three-foot-tall Good Luck Troll you won at Circus Circus."

OK, maybe I'm still a little bitter.

But how would you feel if your best hand left the homestead just as the heirloom tomatoes were coming in?

When he came by today to get the rest of his stuff, I managed to persuade him to help out with the chores one last time.

Well, at least he thinks it's the last time.

Wonder what the Building Inspector would have to say about that gas hook up in his new place.

Kurt "big daddy" True
9 october 2005