DBW and yours truely took part in Zürich’s Bloggy Friday for the 2nd time in two months, networked with two new bloggers, Urs and Andi (sounds better than “met two faces”, eh?) and confirmed why they both hate “Spaghettiplauches” (a big bowl of noodles served with various sauces which don’t taste of anything similar to a spaghetti sauce).

But, as mentioned, weirdness prevailed: of the 6 other participants, none was opionionated nor arrogant. It was simply a great evening among interesting and thoroughly nice people.

In Zürich.

With (mostly) Zürchers.

Weird, I tell you!

Two months ago, while DBW was taking some (quality) time off between jobs, generally spending her time gambolding around local pastures, writing poetry, virtually redecorating the house and insisting on welcoming me home every evening with a smug “And how was your day, darling”, she made an appointment, for this Saturday, at her beautician’s.

At 08:00 AM.

Yes, “AM“.

On a Saturday.

Weirdly enough, and now that she has been back at work for the last 2 months, when reminding my beloved-one of her upcoming comittment I was met with a facial expression mixed with incredulity and absolute, totally, mind-bending panic.

She cancelled.

I will be sleeping in.

And all is well again..

And believe me: you are not the only ones who feel the way you do:

1. There are 3 females in this household.
2. I have an electric razor and have never wet-shaved in my life.
3. Only one boyfriend irregularly graces us with his presence.
4. The other male in the family gets a haircut every three months.

So…….. WTF?!?

When I volunteered to supervise our village’s green dump, four years ago, the reason was quite simple: owning a garden graced with a myriad trees and bushes, I regarded ourselves to be pretty fortunate to be able to benefit from such a service and not have to dispose of our cuttings in a tiny personal green dustbin as neighboring villages had to.

So I reckoned that, without a bit of help from the local inhabitants, the dump’s days would be counted. And hey, it meant standing there for an hour every fourth to fifth Saturday (from 17:00 to 18:00): no big deal!

But then the local council went and changed the opening hours to an hour and a half without consulting us “minders”.

While 60 minutes is pretty bearable, 90 minutes is a long, long time to endure, especially on a Saturday evening when you could be doing “other” things…

But I decided to stick to my commitment for a year and “see how it goes”. And now: I stuck, saw how it went, and, quite honestly, I’m “getting to old for this crap”!

I guess the straw that finally broke the camel’s back was the fact that EVERY time I arrived there at 16:25, I found primates already unloading their stuff; the dump used to be locked, but that hadn’t been deemed necessary any longer. Other primates would make a point to arrive at 18:02… This afternoon was thus my very last afternoon at “The Dump”.

Still, I’ll miss the 90 minutes of chucking Rambo a stick to fetch, 327 times. I could reconsider if they were to raise my hourly compensation, but somehow I can’t imagine them paying me a lot more nothing.