The weekender’s guide to avoiding work

Family may want you to help around the cottage but there are ways to get out of it

By the time we got to the cottage on Friday, my brother-in-law Woody was already down the bank trimming shrubs and trees.

Why he was doing this was unclear to me, since you cannot see any of that from the cottage porch. So, guests have no idea if the bank is overgrown and messy, which I tell him.

“Yes,” he says, snapping the clippers in what I thought was a slightly menacing manner, “but I will know.”

Last week, Woody also made us rake and pick up all the leaves that had fallen in the back lot across from the cottage.

This wouldn’t be such a big deal except we have a lot of trees and the pile of leaves could cover all of Trump’s mistakes in his first 100 days. (Okay, maybe not that big.)

“Why do we have to rake these up?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we be environmentally-conscious and allow them to naturally break down? I think that’s what David Suzuki would do,” I say, edging back toward my lawn chair.

“All the grass underneath will be dead next year so unless you think David Suzuki is going to buy us a truckload of sod, just keep raking.”

Twenty-two bags, and most of the morning later, we were done.

None of this would be a problem except that I have a serious medical condition that prevents me from doing work on weekends. It’s called “laziness.”

When I get to the cottage the most physical labour I want to do is snapping the caps off beer bottles. For exercise, I get in and out of the hammock. Laugh, if you will, but at this age it’s practically a Cirque du Soleil trick.

My idea of weekend work is reading magazines and dozing in the sun, often simultaneously. Once that is done, I need some time to relax. Unfortunately, there is usually a list of “To-Do’s” as long as your arm, if your arm belonged to LeBron James.

So, the challenge for any cottage-goer is how to avoid doing these tasks. Listen, you work hard all week. If you wanted to work on the weekends, you’d have taken a parttime job at Denny’s — or, well, bought a cottage. You see the problem.

I have a list of techniques that may be helpful.

Offer to “go get supplies.” Since nobody at the cottage ever wants to go into town, this makes you look like a martyr. Use any excuse you like. “Gosh, I think we’re out of anchovies. I better head into town.” Once there, you can do pretty much anything you like. This gambit was almost foolproof until the invention of the cellphone. After three or four hours your phone will ring. A voice on the other end will say, “Did you fly to Spain to get the anchovies? What are you doing? And why do we need anchovies anyway? We all hate them.”

It’s best to have a story ready. I like the “festival excuse”. Every small town in Ontario has an annual festival of some kind. It could be for a local crop, like peaches or corn, or it might be something odd, like (and I am not making this up) Selkirk’s Annual Gas Festival. I think that usually follows the Annual Bean Festival, but I’m not sure. In any case, you can stretch your town stay by yelling into the phone, “Sorry, I’m caught in the Summer Bratwurst Festival Parade. I’m stuck behind the Giant Schnitzel Float. Oh, look, the Perogy Queen is waving at me! Hi there! Sorry, I’ll try to get home as soon as I can.”

Or words to that effect. Even with that play, this signals that your time is up. Return promptly. It’s best to bring back a lot of beer. This distracts people. And don’t forget the anchovies. That looks bad.

Buy one of those inflatable ankle casts. They get you out of all work. Downside? They cost $100 and you can only use them once.

I know this is radical, but you could actually do some work. I like cooking, so I usually offer to make dinner. Chopping trees or chopping carrots?

Hand me the apron.