The implausible happened. I agreed to work on a Sunday. There's a garden tour in Alanton next week and naturally, we're behind schedule. The client is nice as can be. She waved as she left for church this morning. She returned just after I brought the second load of mulch, and called me over to the side. "We had a party after Church today," she whispered, "and we ordered too much food. I have five pizzas in my refrigerator. Would you or your guys like to take some home?"
Yes. Yes we would. Of course I couldn't figure out why this was a state secret and she needed to whisper, but what the hay. I sent four to the hacienda with my crew, and took one home for dinner for Jenn and the boys. This should rack up a few more brownie points.
Jesus knew I liked Italian sausage.
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