Yardwork
I HATE dirt.
But there I was, in the 100 degree weather all weekend (whilst our AC died) working on the yard. Digging up plants to move them, digging holes to plant new ones, digging a trench to put a stone border around the other side of our deck. (Oddly enough, the previous homeowner did a border, but only around half the deck)
At one point, in the heat, sweat oozing out of me, covered in mud, on my hands and knees in the dirt, I screamed out "I HATE FUCKING DIRT!!!!"
Folks, I am a city boy.
I like the plants and trees as much as anyone. I like them even better when God or someone ELSE has done all the work on them.
That said, I now have in my possession a power washer (courtesy of my sister-in-law Sue) which can blow the asshole off a gopher at twenty feet.
I know this because I tried.
Kidding.
Or am I?
But there I was, in the 100 degree weather all weekend (whilst our AC died) working on the yard. Digging up plants to move them, digging holes to plant new ones, digging a trench to put a stone border around the other side of our deck. (Oddly enough, the previous homeowner did a border, but only around half the deck)
At one point, in the heat, sweat oozing out of me, covered in mud, on my hands and knees in the dirt, I screamed out "I HATE FUCKING DIRT!!!!"
Folks, I am a city boy.
I like the plants and trees as much as anyone. I like them even better when God or someone ELSE has done all the work on them.
That said, I now have in my possession a power washer (courtesy of my sister-in-law Sue) which can blow the asshole off a gopher at twenty feet.
I know this because I tried.
Kidding.
Or am I?