In which Primo is concerned that my mother might be offended by his political signs in the yard

Primo: Will the signs bother your mother?

[Primo and my mother do not agree politically.]

Me: Probably.

Primo: Uh oh.

Me: What?

Primo: She'll be offended.

Me: Well, she probably won't like them. So?

Primo: Should I take them down?

Me: What? No! She doesn't agree with you, but she would never, ever say anything. She's not like that.

Primo: Right. Neither were my mom and dad.

And we laugh merrily.

In which the HORRIBLE CEO IS FIRED!

Do you guys remember the very bad job situation I was in a little more than two years ago? The bad CEO, Sergio, was mean to people in public. In my US office of nine people, four had quit in one year. If anyone dared complain about anything, like vacation - the HQ people, in a country outside of the US, got a lot more vacation than the US people, Sergio threatened the complainer.

He expected everyone to sacrifice for his vision and to do so without notice, i.e., we will all be working late tonight, surprise! the agenda was a lie!

He was really nasty to my boss. If he didn't like the answer Ben gave in a meeting, he would not politely question him but would excoriate him. I am OK with having to defend analysis and conclusions. I am not OK with being insulted or being told IN PUBLIC that if I am not doing the job, he will find someone who can.

Sergio spent tens of thousands of dollars, if not more, renovating the US office to make it open plan, even though everyone said they wanted more privacy, not less. Of course, he kept an office for himself. He can't be in open plan. It's for the little people.

Six months after the renovations were complete, in January 2016, he closed the US office. Fired everyone.

Two days ago, the CEO of the parent company for which Sergio works, announced that Sergio was "leaving to pursue other interests."

Sometimes, justice prevails.

In which I try to convince Primo that it's OK to tell me that he can't do something and that it's better than promising he will do it and then not being able to do it

Me: What should we eat when my mom is here? Can you cook fish one night?

Primo: Maybe. There is a canvass this weekend.

Me: Maybe I should be in charge of all the food.

Primo: I can maybe do it.

Me: I would rather you tell me you can't do it than give me a maybe.

Primo: But - I want to please you.

Me: I want to know for sure what you are going to do or not going to do.

Primo: But when I make you a promise, it's because I want to make you happy and because my intentions are good.

Me: But - not actually doing what you promised doesn't make me happy. It just pisses me off.

Primo: But I want to do these things! I want to make you happy!

Me: It's OK for you to tell me that you cannot do something. It really is. I would rather know up front that you are not going to grill fish on Sunday than have you tell me today that yes, you will, but then on Sunday, something comes up and you can't and then I am left scrambling.

Primo: How about if you be in charge of meals this weekend?

Me: That sounds good to me.

In which eBay thinks that because I just bought a pair of leopard-print heels that I might also be interested in Crocs or Birkenstocks, which makes me think that eBay understands nothing of human nature

In which a lovely, lovely woman who is very active with The Party but who leaves really long, rambling voicemails calls Primo as he is walking out the door and he answers the phone in an effort to stave off another voicemail

She is the nicest person in the world. Very sincere. Very committed. Not a mean, snarky bone in her body.

(Unlike Yours Truly, who does not always see the Good in People.)

(And who does not always Offer Her Suffering Up To Jesus as her sweet grandmother always suggested.)

The phone rings. Primo is shaving, getting ready to leave for a party meeting. He looks at the phone, grabs it, towel over his arm, razor in one hand, phone in the other.

He's no Anthony Weiner, but he still looks pretty good.

(And it should go without saying - and I think it does but I will say it anyhow - Primo, as far as I know, has never texted photos of any part of his body to anyone.)

Primo: Hi [Nice Lady]! I'm getting ready to go out--

Primo: But I wanted to catch you before you left a voicemail--

Primo: Do you think you could just send me an email with the detai--

Primo: She hung up.

Me: Why?

Primo: She said, "Oh, I won't keep you." Was I rude?

Me: I don't think so. You were direct, but you were tactful.

Primo: It's just that she leaves the longest voicemails and they are always really detailed. When she does email, it doesn't work.

Me: What do you mean?

Primo: I had asked her to send me a spreadsheet of everyone who was coming to that fundraiser. She said she couldn't figure out how to send it, so she brought a printed copy over to the house.

Me: She printed it out? And drove it over here?

Primo: I think she is not very technically proficient. It was pages and pages of printed information but it wasn't even sorted.

Me: She is so nice. Blessherheart.

Primo: I know. But - does anyone want to talk on the phone any more?

Me: I don't. I hate talking on the phone. I email as much as possible at work. If I do have to talk to someone, I schedule it or message him to find out if it's convenient. It's considered rude to call someone out of the blue.

Primo: I know! The only people I like talking to are Sam and you because it's a substitute for when I can't be in person. But I am not interested in conducting any kind of political business over the phone. It's too invasive. I think that's why they tell us to call people to ask for money instead of emailing.

Me: Because then the other person is trapped on the phone?

Primo: Yes. You are supposed to use really hard sell techniques to get money out of people. I don't like it.

In which Primo informs me that he has signed up for a 10K race tomorrow morning and that he needs to get up at 6:15 a.m., which makes me very cranky as I do not want to have hear an alarm that early on a Saturday

I already have to get up at 6 a.m. during the week. I don't want to do it on the weekend. And seriously - this is not a man dedicated to exercise. His attitude is that by signing up for races (and paying for them), he will be forced to train, to which I say, Really? You can't exercise unless it costs us money? Could you at least find a race that doesn't start at the crack of dawn?

BTW - I do not pay money to exercise. I force myself to exercise because I am vain and because when I am old, I want to be able to get out of a chair by myself. I hate every single second of it. I hate exercising. I don't believe the people who say they like it, but maybe they do. Or maybe they are liars. Whatever. But you don't have to spend money to exercise.

In which Primo and I go through the 73 photos I took of him and reduce them to 13 not-bad options without yelling at each other once

Perhaps we have learned to work together. It has not been a strength of ours in the past. Ever.

Primo: Would you come upstairs and help me, please?

Me: No. I am reading.

Primo: Please! I need to pick a photo for the campaign lit!

Me: Nope. I do not want to be involved. You ask my opinion and then you argue with me about it. It's exhausting.

Primo: I won't argue.

Me: Right.

Primo: No! Really!

Me: All I am going to do is give you a thumbs up or thumbs down on the photo.

Primo: OK.

Me: I am not going to explain why I do or do not like it.

Primo: OK.

Me: I am not going to defend my opinion.

Primo: Why not?

Me: Because it's too much work!

Primo: OK.

Me: You have to promise not to ask me "why?" one single time. If you do, I am leaving.

Primo: OK. I promise.

In which Primo asks me to take some photos of him for his campaign lit and tells me I should tell him how to pose but then gets cranky when I tell him what to do because he thinks it's dumb

Primo: Would you take some photos of me?

Me: No! I don't want to! I don't want to be involved.

Primo: Please? You're a photographer -

[Not really. I was in high school, but not any more.]

-- and you can tell me how to pose.

Me: Fine. But if I do this, you don't get to argue with me about my decisions.

Primo: OK.

We walk over to the school and I take a bunch of photos and I tell Primo to do stuff with his hands and arms and he doesn't like what I say and I tell him that if he didn't want my opinion, he should not have asked me for it and I am telling him that the pose he wants looks stupid and he needs to try what I say. We argue about where the photos should be and what should be in the background and I explain that it is not a good idea to have a tree coming out of the top of his head. I tell him that he should not be wearing his striped shirt because it confuses the camera (it did for some but not for other photos). He wants me to use both my little camera and his phone and I just want to be done.

In which someone tells Primo he needs to 1. pay a campaign manager (no - never again) to 2. push him out of his comfort zone, but I am happy that my husband finds it excruciating to ask people for money because I think it is kind of slimy to beg like that

Primo: Oh! I forgot to tell you! At this campaign event today, I ran into Joan. She asked if I had hired a campaign manager.

Me: Uh huh.

Primo: I told her I was working with B. She said too bad, she could have recommended some people to me.

Me: Like who? Not T (his worthless campaign manager from his first campaign who has spiraled into disgrace and who has split with her husband - rumor is that he left her because of her drinking). She was awful.

Primo: No! Remember Biff!

Me: What? No! Not him! He was the kid just out of college who thought he could run a political campaign?

Primo: Yes! Joan said she thought he would be great!

Me: But- he was clueless and a pain in the neck.

Primo: Joan said he would push me out of my comfort zone.

Me: You don't need to be pushed out of your comfort zone. You just need someone to manage a campaign. Unless pushing someone out of his comfort zone means making him ask people for money.

Primo: That is it, kind of.

Me: You are not comfortable asking people for money.

Primo: Nope.

In which the guy who Primo thought was a demanding pest turns out to be really great

Primo: Remember that guy who was interrogating me about how many doors I had done and how much I had gotten in contributions?

Me: Yes.

Primo: He wanted a ride to the event today and I didn't want to have him along, so I told him I had to run errands afterwards. He said that was fine.

Me: So you were stuck with him?

Primo: Yes, but he turned out to be great! We went to the event and he functioned as my helper! He took photos and got peoples' names and he was amazing.

Me: That's great!

Primo: Then I found out the reason he was asking all those questions is that he ran for the State House years ago!

Me: Oh?

Primo: But for the other party! And he wants to run again sometime, but now as a [Primo's party].

Me: What's the problem?

Primo: He's scared that people will turn it against him that he ran as X and now wants to run as Not X.

Me: Wow. He has missed one of the biggest aspects of American culture, which is that we love nothing more than a reformed sinner. All he has to do is to say that He Saw The Light and Has Changed For The Better and Will Never Sin Again.

In which Primo spends Labor Day weekend laboring

Is there a sexier sight than a man doing a home repair?

In which K and I agree there is no point to having good food at a political fundraiser

So you know how I was going to cook and read and watch TV today?

I also got to research how to repair dry wood rot in exterior window frames.

Thank you, previous owners of our 1928 house who did crap maintenance.

In other news, K came over to help Primo with campaign strategy.

We got on the subject of Roberto, the guy who wanted to revamp Primo's campaign strategy a week before the election but didn't want to deliver yard signs.

"There is always That Guy!" K laughed. "That guy is usually retired and sits around reading and listening to political stuff and he has figured out the secret to winning! Ask any campaign manager and she will tell you that That Guy is her worst nightmare."

I shook my head. "I wanted to tell Roberto either to donate some money or deliver yard signs but we were not going to discuss or change strategy at this point."

"There is this one guy who keeps his notes in a plastic bag," K said, "and he brings them with him to political events. And then he wants to talk about them. He pulls them out of the bag! But then he doesn't ever donate."

"I hate raising money," I said. "I never want to have another fundraiser at our house again. We discovered that we are really, really good at turning about $500 worth of wine into $150 in cash."

"That's how it usually goes," K said. "The Smiths had a fundraiser for Candidate X last week. They spent $1,500 on getting it catered and the food was really nice, but I kept telling them not to spend that kind of money. The candidate was telling them not to spend that kind of money - that he would rather they write him a check for $1,000 and have not as much food. All you need is a few bottles of wine, some cheese, and some fruit. Nobody expects fancy."

"If we ever do it again, it's Costco trays," I said. "I am never cooking for a fundraiser again."

She nodded. "The Smiths keep asking how much was raised. I have been hedging, telling them that yeah, pretty much as much as they spent, but really, it was only $750. I can't bear to tell them."

"Well, we will never host a fundraiser again," I said, looking at Primo, "but if we did, I think I would just make peanut butter sandwiches."

In which Primo informs me that he has people coming over tomorrow to work on his campaign and I have to remind him to be a host because no matter what side you are on, if the hosting is bad, it's the woman's fault

I don't care if Primo has people over as long as I am not the one who has to prepare for their visit or entertain them.*

I need to work on my book.

I need to master the art of making zucchini marmalade. (Something like this, but with a lot less sugar - I am not going to process it - I will just store in the freezer - so it doesn't need the usual canning sugar/fruit/veg ratio.)

I need to read stuff. (I just finished Lindy West's book, Shrill, and I really liked it. I started Secondhand Time - The Last of the Soviets and like what I've read so far, but am not sure I am willing to spend what might be close to the last of summer weather on reading about post-communist life.)

I need to watch stuff - DCI Banks is waiting for me.

I might make rosemary soft pretzels. Not sure. I might not want to commit to that much work.

So anyway.

Having people over is Primo's thing, even though one of them is our friend K who works at the ACLU and whom I like very much.

And when you have people to your house, especially people who are helping you and not charging you, you be a host.

Me: What are you going to feed them?

Primo: What do you mean?

Me: You are having people over.

Primo: Yeah - at 1:30 p.m.

Me: And?

Primo: That's after lunch.

Me: So you give them a snack.

Primo: Oh.

Me: There is a chocolate zucchini bread in the freezer. Use that.

Primo: OK.


* He just built up some goodwill by actually going to the Sherwin Williams store to price paint for PAINTING THE DAMN EXTERIOR TRIM, which was part of the deal when he quit his job almost two years ago. Yeah, I know Sly and Doris happened, but this is a two-day project.

In which I get stressed realizing that the estate taxes are due in two weeks and I wonder why Primo has not even started to organize the paperwork when he has known for a year that this needs to be done

So I do some googling to see what the penalties are for filing and paying late because - I am a rule follower! Taxes have to be filed on time!

And I discover something on the IRS page that you have not a year after the death but only nine months to file and I am starting to hyperventilate and thinking prison and fines and then I slap myself in the face and say, "But wait! The worst that could happen is there is a fine. And the estate would have to pay it."

And I think Primo would agree. He has been a super cranky butt for the past two days. I finally figured out it was because of the taxes, which he does not want to do AND WHO CAN BLAME HIM?

He has been cranky and grouchy and pissed at Sly and Doris for dumping all this crap on him, WHICH THEY DID. They were selfish, thoughtless jerks who went out of their way to make this whole thing painful - disinheriting Primo, but then making him executor and trustee and specifying that he could not be paid.

Every time I get a little annoyed that Primo is not working, I remind myself I would rather have an unemployed Primo and no Sly and Doris than the other way around.

In which Primo realizes that doing housework is futile

Primo: Hey! I just vacuumed two days ago and there is already cat hair on the floor again!

Me: I know.

Primo: And I washed the tub last week but it is dirty again!

Me: I know.

Primo: But - that's not fair!

Me: I know.