My recent bout with strep throat happened to coincide with lousy weather. The five days I was ensconced under a blanket, protected from the frigid temperature, saw a significant amount of snowfall. I was in no condition to shovel it, so it piled up, settled and was walked on daily by the mail carrier and visitors. My walkways had become icy, snow-covered hazards that I decided would remain that way until the spring.

On Sunday there was a knock on my door. Standing on my step, was a guy holding a shovel and a chipper. The temperature was somewhere around -15° F plus the added chill of the blistering wind. His head was covered by only a thin hood from the sweatshirt beneath his coveralls. He looked cold. He offered to shovel my walks for me.

I asked how much this service would cost me. He said, “I’ll tell you what – you name a price, and I won’t turn it down.” Good deal.

After a moment of thought I said, “Five bucks?”

He got a constipated look on his face accompanied by a strained chuckle. He said, “Uh… I hate to do this, but, um… if you make it $6 I could get a 6-pack for the curling game tonight.”

I think this is what they call “driving a hard bargain” or “there’s a sucker born every minute.” But $6 was fine, so I agreed.

Before he began, he gave me his entire hard luck story. You know the one: guy works nights doing building maintenance, guy falls off ladder - hurts back and breaks rib, guy doesn’t have medical clearance to go back to work, guy’s worker’s compensation doesn’t kick in for another two weeks, guy’s broke. I’ve heard that exact story a thousand times.

Every now and then I would check on my new hire, through the privacy of my peephole, and he seemed to be making good progress. He was doing a fine job. But the thin hood on his head bothered me. It was frostbite weather – where was this guy’s winter hat?

As he worked away, I put together a bag of things for him: a couple of granola bars, bottle of water, candies, chocolate and a winter hat. I put the bag by the door, next to his $6, and waited for him to finish.

Once he was done, he rang the doorbell and I greeted him with my thanks, his $6 and care package. He was thankful for the bag of goodies… and I hope he put the hat on right away. He thanked me for coughing up the extra dollar then reminded me that he would be enjoying a televised curling match with his beer. He said that he hoped to shovel snow for another house or two so he could buy some McDonald’s food, too. He might as well have held out his empty palm and cleared his throat. Then came another story.

First, he asked about the neighborhood. He is considering moving a couple of blocks away and wasn’t familiar with the area. I gave him a briefing but he seemed to be preoccupied with his thoughts. It was like he needed to get something off his chest. Then it came.

He explained his current situation: he is living with his sister and her new husband. See, he is a preacher from Utah who plays the organ. The sister and the preacher met on the internet, the mention of which made my new shoveling friend shudder in disgust. He complained that the newlyweds are always kissing, hugging and caressing each other. It seems that it’s a bit much for a grown man to watch a grown man and woman play kissy-face like a couple of school kids. I tend to agree. To make matters worse, every morning begins with the preacher playing church hymns on the organ. The snow shoveler is at his wit’s end and wants to find a place of his own.

With any luck, he will move into the place a couple of blocks away from me. Then I could have him shovel my snow whenever I want. I gave the guy all that stuff in the bag – he owes me.

My friend, Da-Man was explaining to me the other day how to purchase prophylactics without the embarrasment of being seen by all the other people in the checkout line. As we know, this particular duty seems to be one of mens’ most difficult tasks. So much so that if it were not for the actual reward of getting to use them later, we probably would never buy them at all. There is only one thing more embarrassing than having all the other customers in line see you set them down on that conveyor belt - and that is the nightmare where some pimple faced clerk has to call out over the store PA system something like, ” Price check on the rainbow colored teenie weenie size Trojan pervo pack special”. It is with these obstacles in mind that Da-man offers solutions. It all starts with wardrobe. Think trench coat with upturned collar and a nice dark fedora. From there, it’s all about the attitude. Think Bond,… James Bond.

As you walk in the grocery store, grab a basket. Next go find your favorite magazine and stand it up in the basket so it is leaning against one side. It needs to be in proper postion so that at a moments notice you can flip it down to cover the bottom of the basket just like newspaper lining a bird cage. Now make a beeline to the Prophylactic department. At this point it is critical to avoid any product with a “sale ” sign or sticker on it. That sticker pretty much garuantees you the loudspeaker senario. Grab your product, ensure that the UPC symbol is clearly visible and in good enough shape to get scanned properly on the first try.

Because there is no actual way of being 100 per cent certain of this, you must have faith in the force my son. Drop the box of jimmy hats into your basket and quickly flip the magazine to cover them. Now you are good to go shopping for the rest of your stuff. It is critical to fill your basket with any item that is shaped like a big box of cereal. When you have at least 4 of these you can head to the checkout. Always, always pick a male cashier. Do not pick a female cashier because it doesn’t matter how young or old, beautiful or ugly she is, at some point your face WILL turn beet red and you will be busted in front of everyone.

When it is your turn to put your groceries on the belt, you choose the big square box items and build a roofless fort with them. When you get to the bottom of your basket, use the magazine to pick up your prophylactics and drop them into the center of your cereal box fort, effectively hiding them from the rest of the customers in line. Now take the magazine and open it up. Pretend to be tremendously interested in it. Put it up to your face, hiding you from sight but allowing you to peer out over top and stay aware of what is going on. When your turn finally comes, it helps to create a diversion. Suddenly point and shout out, “Hey is that Britney Spears?” Get your bag ready so the moment your Trojans are scanned and slid down the belt you quickly grab them up and put them in your bag. They are now safe to transport home.

Mission accomplished!

A good female friend of mine went on a date recently with a guy she had been introduced to. When she got home she called me to tell me how it went. She said he seemed like a really nice guy and they had fun but she wasn’t going to see him again. When I asked her why, she replied, “Bad Kisser!”. A new literal meaning for the phrase “kiss of death”.

We talked at length about kissing and both agreed that there is one very difficult aspect of kissing to determine with complete certainty - that is, “Am I a good kisser?” Unfortunately, the entire world thinks they are awesome kissers and it’s the rest of us that are bad at it.

To help her determine if the bad kiss was his fault or her fault, I offered up my services but she didn’t want to break her life long record of never having kissed me so we could only go on our own past experiences. We both agreed that while one may think they are the best kisser on the planet the real judgment of your kissing is in the hands, er, lips, of the person receiving your best efforts.

It got me to wondering if I really was a good kisser. When I asked my friend if she lied to her date about his kissing she said that she would never tell him the truth because it would hurt his feelings. So, I wonder how many women have spared my feelings.

There is no doubt that when I was 16 I was probably not much of a kisser, but as I aged I’m sure I improved. I think back to some kisses I received that stuck out in my memory hoping that those women didn’t walk away thinking I was a drooling, lip mashing idiot. Can you imagine the humiliation of falsely believing that the amazing, hormone stirring, kiss you just shared was really just an awful experience for the other person?

I was lucky enough to have one girl tell me my kisses weren’t forceful enough so adjusted the pressure and that seemed to work, but if she hadn’t told me I would have went on my merry way thinking I was buckling her knees with my soft tender kisses. It would have been more like turning her stomach.

So to all those guys out there who keep getting turned down for a second date, consider tuning up your lip locking skills, and maybe you’ll get a second date with my friend.

I’ve been laid up sick all week and haven’t been at the Lab. Instead, I have been lying in bed watching DVDs. I just finished the entire series of Curb Your Enthusiasm. While this might normally seem like a nice little break from my regular duties, it is horrible. I nearly knock myself out just going to the fridge to get more juice. I have been bed-bound and haven’t left the house except to see the doctor. I haven’t been this sick in years.

When I picked up my antibiotics from the pharmacist, she casually mentioned that diarrhea was a possible side effect but that I’d probably be fine. Readers, when a pharmacist tells you that diarrhea is a “possible” side effect, treat it as a certainty. I urge you to NEVER take it lightly. This is a mistake I am not likely to make again soon.

Tonight my girlfriend is taking me to a concert after she takes me for a sushi dinner. This has been the plan for a while, as the tickets to the concert were a Christmas present from her. So I can’t really cancel due to my condition. I can’t describe how terrified I am that there is a lingering possibility of concert diarrhea. Lucky I’m only a few seats from the aisle.

While reading the ever so popular server logs & website statistics information here at the Lab, a common theme appears to be that alot of people out there want to “share their wife”.

For over a year now, the word string “share my wife” has been searched by people and somehow they end up at the Lab.

Hmmm… I am looking for someone to walk the dog…anyone wanna share that much?