Garden variety flirtation
I was out in the yard this morning, finishing up the digging for the rain garden so I could put the good dirt in. I found my wellies, which made the mud situation very much better, and so I was kickin' along, getting it done, when I heard a voice...
"What are you doing?"
I looked up--then looked down. A small boy-thing, about five years old, with a buzz haircut and a pair of really neat cowboy boots was standing at the edge of the hole, watching me slog around in the mud with a shovel.
I explained that I was digging a patch for a new flowerbed, and spent the next couple of minutes answering his questions and trying to keep those cowboy boots out of the mud so that his mother wouldn't come after me with a shotgun.
He offered to help, but I told him I only had one shovel.
Not a problem. He scooted off and came back with one of his own, but I told him that the snow shovel he had retrieved would probably not work so well in the mud.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, I was quite a sight, let me tell you. Mud from head to toe, sweating into my hair from under my baseball cap, winded, red-faced and completely smelly, dirty, messy and with all the refinement of a wild boar. But we continued to chat pleasantly, and he was totally cool with all of it.
And then he looked at me, with his head cocked to one side and his eyes clearly sizing me up, and he said, "You know, you're kinda cute."
I didn't laugh. I was too shocked to laugh. But when I collected myself I smiled and told him that he was kinda cute as well.
"I know," he said. "My mom tells me that sometimes."
I've got to tell you--there are worse places to live than Spring Mount.
Where else could you get hit on by a five year old gigolo in cowboy boots, butt-deep in mud in your own back yard?
"What are you doing?"
I looked up--then looked down. A small boy-thing, about five years old, with a buzz haircut and a pair of really neat cowboy boots was standing at the edge of the hole, watching me slog around in the mud with a shovel.
I explained that I was digging a patch for a new flowerbed, and spent the next couple of minutes answering his questions and trying to keep those cowboy boots out of the mud so that his mother wouldn't come after me with a shotgun.
He offered to help, but I told him I only had one shovel.
Not a problem. He scooted off and came back with one of his own, but I told him that the snow shovel he had retrieved would probably not work so well in the mud.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, I was quite a sight, let me tell you. Mud from head to toe, sweating into my hair from under my baseball cap, winded, red-faced and completely smelly, dirty, messy and with all the refinement of a wild boar. But we continued to chat pleasantly, and he was totally cool with all of it.
And then he looked at me, with his head cocked to one side and his eyes clearly sizing me up, and he said, "You know, you're kinda cute."
I didn't laugh. I was too shocked to laugh. But when I collected myself I smiled and told him that he was kinda cute as well.
"I know," he said. "My mom tells me that sometimes."
I've got to tell you--there are worse places to live than Spring Mount.
Where else could you get hit on by a five year old gigolo in cowboy boots, butt-deep in mud in your own back yard?