Every day it mysteriously showed up.

Unwanted and unpaid for.

But there it was... just waiting for me to partake of its offerings.

In a new marketing ploy (I would venture to guess), The Pushers thought they could get me hooked if I just got used to having it at my fingertips.

But I wouldn't give in. I get my news off the internet, thankyouverymuch.

After about a week of freebies, it stopped just as mysteriously as it had begun. (Then again, I could have had a neighbor who was, at that very moment screaming at some poor Customer Support clerk complaining about their lack of daily home delivery... )

Ha! Nice try. The only part of the newspaper I want is the Saturday coloured comics, which are no longer a separate section, but now deviously hidden deep inside the pages, making the act of trying to find them akin to discovering the Fountain of Youth. The rest of the newspaper gets chucked straight into the recycle bin. I have no need for it at all.

Except for when I am painting. Oh crap! What the heck would I use if I had no paper to protect my carpet from the inevitable paint spills? Which, believe me, happens more often than I care to admit. I can bullseye that one square inch of unprotected carpet in-between the folds of Arts and Leisure and The Classifieds like William Tell.

So before I decide to stop purchasing even the Saturday edition, perhaps I should stock up on the Christmas flyers.

I've already had enough delivered this past week to last me, oh until 2012.

Now that I've implanted The Drifters into your head, I can tell you my story.

It's the story of a woman.

A woman to truly hates, with every fibre of her being, to nag.

But every year at this time, she found herself nagging.

"When are you going to put up the Christmas lights?" she would ask her hubby.

Then a week would pass without a response, and she would nag again.

"Are you going to put up the Christmas lights yet?"

Another week would pass as the neighbors colourfully lit up the street, but her home sadly remained a lone black hole.

Nag. Nag. Nag.

Well no more. This year she did it. She marched to Canadian Tire, purchased six sets of 25 light Cool White LEDs, six sets of white plastic clip thingys and while hubby was at work Saturday, screwed up her courage and went

Up On The Roof

Yep she did it!

At first she was nervous; but she pulled herself off the top of the ladder and onto the garage roof; scootching safely around on her butt, clamping the lights onto the eaves, trying her best not to look down.

And then it happened. She told herself "if others can do it, so can I".

So she stood up and walked around, fearless... it was wonderful! It was invigorating! As the unseasonably warm wind whipped her hair about, she even stopped to watch hundreds of geese in flight from her perch in the sky.

She was suddenly a pro... clamp, clamp, clamp. Twist the cord, lay them flat, encircle the chimmney. Up the ladder, down the ladder. Stomp around the roof, sidestep the goose poop, over the peak, down the other side.

What a fantastic feeling of accomplishment. Now she'll never have to nag again.

Well, at least about the Christmas lights that is.