That's How It's Done On Labor Day

Over here at the SJG palatial estate, the Upstairs/Downstairs butler just announced he's taking Labor Day off. The nerve. As he headed outside to bark for no reason, he demanded more overtime, more tea time, more "me" time. I quickly set him straight.  
"Sir Blakey?"
"Woof?"
"Your whole day is 'me' time. I command you to vacuum the entire house!"
"Woof."
I really should have been a labor negotiator. Oh, wait, I already did that, when I gave birth to the youngest. "Get this thing out of me now!" I hollered at the labor team, and they did just that. Well done, me!
And now, onto longtime hubby, lounging on the La-Z-Boy, pretending to observe the holiday.
"What's with the slacking off? I'm sure there's something in the house you can fix."
"Such as?"
"I thought I heard something leaking somewhere."
"I'm on it."
Whereupon he sprung to his feet and grabbed his tool box. And that, my friends, is how it's done on Labor Day.