I don’t get up at night to have a leak,
my skylight always did that for me

“Hey, Gord,” bubbled notorious neighbourhood busybody Randal Kumquat as he high-stepped up my drive slaloming around the broken bodies of drywall, plywood and pink insulation, “doing some renovations?”

Gee, Randy, what gave me away—the band-aids that cover most of my body? The sawdust falling out of all my new worry-wrinkles? The static-cling Styrofoam beads that unintentionally pimped my car? Continue reading