"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" I ask, still in my pyjamas and housecoat. "It's your night to have supper with Grandma, and you'll go in an hour early to visit your dad. Anything else?"
It's rainy so he can't hay or make bales; he was in town already this morning, working on a house addition.
"Maybe I'll get these handles on," he says.
What I say is, "Oh! I'd better get these dishes done then." Why I think he'd need a clean countertop, I don't know; he takes the doors off and the drawers out anyway, right?
But anyway, the dishes need doing so I do them.
Alas, I am meant to be disappointed, because he takes quite a while weighing just where and how he's going to place them on the wood, and then he has a little nap, and then someone asks for a favour and he leaves the house to do it, and then he delivers the favour before heading for Kelvington to do his visiting and supping.
Sigh. Maybe tomorrow.