Sign of the Season

This is how I know the weather has warmed up.

It's Saturday. We ate our bacon and eggs (and the backs of my hands smell like applewood smoke) with our Trader Joe's croissants (which are perfect every time). We talked about stuff. There are three of us today - no one under the age of thirty. The two not-young giants are thumping about, making working noises in my house and around it. But mostly below it, to be precise. The doors are open to the outside. I descend to their level (ha!) and wonder what's going on. For some reason I am compelled to ask.


Me: What are you guys doing?

Him: Cleaning out the basement so you can use it more.

Me (due to that non-answer): What are you doing?

Him: We're cleaning out the basement. We're going to bring your washer and dryer down here.

Me (even less impressed than before - the basement is all dirt - my washer and dryer are no more going down there than I am): What are you doing?

Him: We're pulling water heaters out of here.

Me: Water heaters? Did you say heaters? Plural?

Him: Yes.

Me: Oh, I don't even want to know about this.

Him: That's why we don't tell you.