I’m taking one of those random days off where you get a lot of stuff done that’s difficult to get scheduled on the weekend.  First on the agenda was getting the chimney swept.  We have a pretty good service – one of their best features is that they are very, very punctual.  So the annual drill goes thusly: guys show up right at 8 and get to work on the chimney.  I sit with the dog and feel useless, then write a check.  At some point, they marvel at how gunky our chimney is and I tell them that, yes, we’re New Englanders and we like our nightly winter fires.  Then they go away.  This year included a particularly irritating addendum to the usual routine.

Mr. Chimney Sweep hands me the work order and notes the price.  He asks: “Do you get your chimney swept every year?”

Me: “Yes, every year for the last eight years we’ve lived here.  Like clockwork.  We know we have a lot of fires.”

MCS: “You should get it done every year, because it was really bad.”

Me: “Yeah – we do.  Every year.”

MCS: “The chimney walls look good, but I’ve written here that you should get it swept every year.”

Me: Silently screaming.  “Okay.”