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I spent the morning clearing out a corner of our yard that Mother Nature has been trying to claim back. And before you put your money on Mother Nature winning this round, keep in mind that I come equipped with a bottle of Round-Up.

So I'm out there sweating and getting dirtier by the minute while I clear out the weeds, when suddenly it seems like the entire neighborhood is parading by my house, stopping and commenting on how glad they are to see me weeding, because, you know, "No one's worked on that in awhile."

And by "no one," I'm assuming they mean me. Or George. Or George and me. Cripes, we've only been in the house for four months. What do these people want from us?

Apparently, a perfect yard. Or, at least, the entrance to our street cleaned up, which is where the patch of earth I was working on is located.

As I'm fond of telling George when he complains about his laundry not being done, I am not Susie Fucking Homemaker. What did these people think they were getting when we moved in . . . Bree from Desperate Housewives?

I can't even tell you how tempted I am to stick a flock of plastic flamingos out there and be done with it.

Posted 13 May 2005 at 01:55 PM