I grew up with an immaculate yard. It was truly beautiful. My dad had some serious talent.
|This is what my house looked like in the winter. Beautiful still, hu?|
Unfortunately, I did not inherit that gift.
And yet, I try to garden anyway. I figure, if you try hard enough at something, it can become a talent, right?
At any rate, I sort of hate gardening.
Mainly because two years ago, I was attempting to reclaim my yard. When we bought our house, it had been a rental property for a few years. To bachelors. Who were students. Who did zero yard work.
The whole back yard was covered in weeds nearly as tall as I am. It was bad. At any rate, we worked hard on that yard. I was in the front yard, weeding, and people kept honking and waving at me. I lived on a fairly busy street, and figured people were just happy for the nice weather.
After weeding, and cutting down tree sprouts, and a whole lot of bending over (you know where this is going, don't you?) our friend came by. We visited with his mother for a bit, and then went around to the back where Jeffrey had been working. After visiting for ten minutes or so, I went inside to blow my nose. I have hay fever.
So I went in, and while I was in the bathroom getting some toilet paper for my nose, I noticed something.
My pants had a huge gaping whole in them!
I was mortified.
But I am good with awkward situations.
I went outside and made a joke about feeling extra breezy or something.
Our friend said he had been trying to find a subtle way to tell me.
And so, every time I bend over to weed, I worry that the world is seeing my unmentionables.
I now have a phobia of weeding the garden.