Going berserk

The Berserker has left the building.

I refer, of course, to my sister Therese, who, like the ancient Berserkers, works herself into a rage as she packs her van to leave for home.

The Berserkers of legend were working themselves up to a blood letting against their enemies. With Therese, the enemy is all the stuff that has to go back into the van. And if you happen to be standing nearby and are not working as hard as she thinks you should, she’ll unleash a little Berserker on you.

So there she was, barking orders, stomping around in the as yet un-collapsed canopy and probably muttering about what a slacker I am.

The problem is that no one I know works as hard as Therese, and certainly I don’t. If anyone could lift tables and boxes into a vehicle with just a fierce stare, it would be Therese. But even she can’t do that so instead she stomps around. slinging things about, and whapping unsuspecting sisters with table legs, rolling carts and whatever else comes across her path.

I admit I do not have her strength, her focus, or her super human willpower. What I do have is a sore back, aching feet and the welcome relief of knowing I don’t have to drag myself out of bed tomorrow morning to go to work.

The Berserker does have to go to work, which is probably why she went a little berserk today as she tidied up the debris of our three-day vintage sale.

The good news is, now that she’s gone we can once again have civil phone conversations.

The bad news is that now that she’s gone, I’m left with all the heavy lifting of getting the garage packed up for the winter.

Where’s a Berserker when you really need her?

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