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.

In which I go through my list of local LinkedIn connections to find someone who might know a CPA who specializes in estates and trusts so Primo can have the estate pay a professional to do the estate taxes instead of spending days doing it himself for free and discover that the only CPA in my local connections is the guy Primo is running against

Yes, that is correct. I am connected on LinkedIn to the legislator Primo is running against. We met a few years ago the first time Primo was running. Primo and I both liked him. We connected.

But I think it would be weird to ask him now if he knows anyone.

In which I try to explain the plot of a TV show to Primo and he wants to argue about how they are breaking the law

Me: I found this show "Younger" that you can watch online. I watched a few episodes. The premise is that this 40 year old woman is pretending to be 26 so she can get a job.

Primo: Why can't she get a job as a forty year old?

Me: Because she has been out of the workforce for 15 years, raising her daughter. But her husband had an affair and gambled away all their money, so she has to go back to work.

Primo: Why can't she get a job?

Me: Because she was in publishing and when she interviews, they tell her that she's too old - that the world has changed too much since she was working.

Primo: But that's illegal!

Me: I know. But --

Primo: They can't do that!

Me: I know, but --

Primo: Can't she sue somebody?

Me: Could we please just accept that this is the premise of the show and not argue about what should be, please?

Primo: OK.

In which I attend the political BBQ with Primo and have a good time, even though I have to roll my eyes at some of the things that are said

Primo spoke for five minutes, which is four minutes longer than I recommended, but he was good! He has gotten a lot better at public speaking. When we met, he was an occasional reader in church. He would clutch the lectern, sway side to side, and never lift his eyes from the text.

Now he looks at the crowd, smiles, and takes cues - when they clapped, he stopped talking rather than forging on because you know - that was THE SPEECH and he had to KEEP TALKING.

Do you guys know how amazing this is for an engineer who hates scope creep and STICKS TO THE PLAN NO MATTER WHAT?

(As in, when he was looking through the boxes in the basement for his electric shaver, we came across some tapered-leg jeans - I know, I know - and I suggested that he put them in the Goodwill box and he was horrified at the suggestion that he deviate from the plan of finding the shaver because that was not the mission.

However, when I define the mission, as in Let's Leave Now So We Are Not Late For Whatever, he thinks it's absolutely required - that part of the mission - is doing dishes before we leave.)

Where was I?

Our friend J was there. J has run for office. I like him. We agree on some things, don't agree on other things. K from the ACLU was there. Again, I like her a lot. We agree on a lot of things - she thought the 8th grade trip to Denmark was as ridiculous as I do - and we had a good time.

Primo gave his speech. People liked it. He was a million times better than the field organizer the party sent out. This kid was boring boring boring and would not shut up. He was talking about administrative and policy stuff. I was texting Primo that this guy was talking too long and this is what I meant by keeping it short, but Primo was a million times better than the field organizer.

Then the guy who is running for Congress (the seat Primo ran for two years ago) spoke and he was fabulous. He is an accomplished public speaker - he is a small business owner who has been doing political advocacy for years, so he is very experienced. I was glad Primo did not have to go after this guy.

I ate. The food was good because it was all homemade and not the usual Costco tray crap people usually serve. (Although having cooked for one fundraiser, I will never do it again because it is just way too much work, so I get it.) I met people and chatted politely and was the good Candidate's Wife. And then I went home - it was only a mile from our house, so I walked - and Primo stayed and that was fine. The end.

Thank you everyone who told me about your re-direct problem with this blog, especially The Cosmic Avenger, who spent a lot of time with me yesterday trying to fix it

I think it is fixed. I hope.

PS The problem appeared to be that the word "toolator" (I spit upon you, toolator) appeared in the code for one of my widgets. I have killed the widget.

PPS Have I ever told you my widget story? I should.

In which Primo is leaving for the BBQ and I ask him how long his speech is and he tells me it's five minutes

and I say, "That's awfully long."

He says, "I have a lot to say."

I say, "That doesn't mean that people want to hear it."