Where we live, it's bitter cold most of the year. A month and a half ago, though, we had a day that was almost warm enough not to freeze to death outside, and my wife suddenly says to me "when are you going to get the hot tub cleaned up and back in service?"
Like a dutiful husband, I understood exactly what she meant: "it's time for you to clean up the hot tub and put it back in service." Which is what I did, exactly two weeks and 28 reminders later that it was "hot tub season" according to her.
Unfortunately, the jets didn't work. She was extremely bummed not to be able to use the hot tub, and I was bummed that she wouldn't be running around in a bikini, which is pretty much my only interest in the hot tub. That was about two weeks ago.
Tonight, for reasons unknown to me, a cosmic force compelled me to go treat the water today. I turned on the jets out of habit, and they came on! Suddenly the jets work! The hot tub is alive!
That means that rewriting is done for the evening. It's time to go hot tubbing. Because all work and no play makes Colin a very dull boy.
Update: I don't know where she found that frogman suit that she wore, but needless to say, I was not a fan. Perhaps next time...
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