Two long weekends in a row. What an awesome luxury. Far too good to waste and yet I'm at home doing work, washing and Woolies. Same old. Same old. To be fair, last weekend doesn't count because let's face it, I did nothing to earn a break out of the Anzac sacrifice. But Labour Day? As a card carrying union member and more significantly a person who's working for the man, the rights of the worker should be celebrated. To me, celebration means relaxing on the beach. It does not mean removing spider webs no matter how attractive the rain has made them. To add insult to injury, my husband has headed to a North Queensland beach town for the weekend. This gives me the total shits because
1) I'm not there
2) He's not even going to see the sand but it playing bridge. That's a crime against just about everything
3) He's an employer not an employee. Therefore if any member of the family gets to go away for Labour Day it should be me.
Yes, I have given the matter quite a bit of thought actually. Yes I am sulking which is most unbecoming. But there is still time to fix this and the fur friends and I are working on a plan. Watch this space.
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