Mental Laborer

We're at the country house, again. I spent the day being lazy and reading Chekhov. Also, I had to take care of the boys, since Poo was out in the fields planting corn. I suppose I should have helped her but it looks damn hot out there. Also, I don't want blisters on my pretty little hands.

I tried it once, planting corn. I planted two rows. Actually, I swung the pick-axe and dug the holes and Poo dropped the seeds into the holes and kicked the dirt back. Fortunately, after two rows I was saved by rain. The next day I had blisters on my hands and I made a mental note: Mick, everybody around here thinks you're an intellectual, what the Bolsheviks used to call "a mental laborer"; to keep up appearances, next time stay inside the cool house and read Chekhov.