Well, Mr D and expateek spent Sunday afternoon in their own little self-induced comas. Mr D's coma was the direct result of 17 hours straight of The Golf Channel, interspersed with small snippets of college basketball. Though expateek occasionally perked up when hot college b-ballers flexed their toned deltoids and biceps during frequent close-ups of free-throw shots, she was mostly uninterested in the TV. Mr D gets kind of irked when expateek looks up from what she's doing and says, "Lordy, he's smokin'!" because Mr D knows that expateek couldn't tell man-to-man defense from zone defense from a hole in the ground.
But who cares about what expateek does or doesn't know about sports, anyway?
Because it's all about productivity, folks. And she, unlike some people in the room, was working. Working on the 2008 taxes... and my God, what can it mean if expateek is almost current with taxes? Expect The Rapture to occur at any moment, folks. The world as we know it is nearing its glorious end.
So it was with great excitement that expateek clicked on the button that said Submit Tax Organiser.
She looked over at the somnolent Mr D, and said...
Come on, Hep Cat, let's jive!
And she and Mr D cut the rug* and danced til the cows came home. Though the cows actually were home already, cuz it was way past dark.
* Actual footage of Mr D and expateek dancing in Schaumburg, Illinois.