Wing & A Prayer.
So we decided that we were just going to do The Canary on our own using reliable pinchhitters until after both of us gets back from our vacations after Labor Day. It just makes more sense to have to rely solely on ourselves at this point rather than turn over any responsibility on someone who a) does not know what they're doing, b) is potentially unreliable, or c) is psychotic/depressed/drunk/drugriddled/busy/lazy/crazy...
After this work-like-dogs stint, we both just might turn out to be the ones who become psychotic/depressed/drunk/drugriddled/busy/lazy/crazy over the course of the next four weeks.
Enh, we'll be fine. Tired but fine. Why? Because Mr. Rasputina IS A GIFT FROM GOD.
Mr. R. worked all day today at The Canary. On his day off. He cleaned every surface in the whole shop. Twice. Thrice if it's a surface that the public can touch. And then....and then he says "Can I clean your floor drains?" as if he was asking if he could pet my puppy or kiss my Canary Diamond. My response: "Oh my god! Only if you. really. want to. really."
"This drain is worse than City Tavern's drain."
Mr. R., you deserve much much more than the meager wage and the hefty bag of Combos I bestowed on you. Thank you.