The discreet charm of the retiree

Carol’s attempts to get me off the couch have taken some unexpected turns. The initial rollout of chores and errands demonstrated the impregnability of my Fortress of Decrepitude. Her occasional clarion calls of “the weeds are back,” or “the car could use a wash and wax,” or “we’re out of food,” were met with a level of unresponsiveness usually associated with talking to a wall.