So, what did I do over the Memorial Day weekend? I:

* Got called in to work.
* Swapped one of my kids for one of my sister-in-law’s (only for a week or two).
* Fixed pancakes.
* Mowed, trimmed, and edged the lawn, until it looks like it belongs to a fifth-dan greenbelt.
* Went to see Madagascar.
* Did a little writing, and worked up some nifty excuses why I didn’t do more.

Oh, and I moved in some of my dad’s furniture. He recently sold his old house and got a new one, and he didn’t want to move all of his old furniture, so I got a bunch of it.

The pick of the litter is a leather couch and two chairs – still in pretty good condition considering that it’s now over the age of consent. It was my dad’s second string living room suite, so no one ever used it. The only thing I don’t like about it is the early-80′s era flap-over top cushion. Also, it’s pretty funky, and by “funky” I don’t mean, “Exudes an aura of neo-new wave styling excess,” I mean, “Exudes an odd and somewhat unpleasant smell.”

Why? Well, there’s math involved. My dad is a smoker, see, and that furniture was exposed to the output of many, many cigarettes. Over the years the second-hand sofa absorbed a lot of secondhand smoke. Let’s say the it sat in my dad’s house for 10 years (it makes the math easier). Now let’s assume that each year has exactly 300 days (much, much easier). And since my dad was not at home that whole time, this funky fouton was probably exposed to about 5 cigarettes a day.

So. 15,000 cigarettes, polluting the air this sofa breathed. Really a bit surprising that the stuffing has not been replaced by carbon dust and tiny pieces of ash. On the plus side, my home now has the familiar smell of my dad’s place.

For some reason, my wife doesn’t think that’s a good thing.