What A Guy

In the fading sunlight, I was sitting in the yard, pounding a few nails out of some trim while the girls were playing with (what else?) the chickens when Jack strolled out in his painting jumpsuit.  I assumed he had started painting the downstairs bedroom so I asked him if he was doing a good job edging.

“I think I’m doing a good job,” he smirked.

After finishing up with my piece of trim, I herded the children inside with the promise of a popsicle and peaked into the room to inspect it.