A Hundred Freaking Years Old!
I took a long look around the place on Saturday.
We needed to get some work done.
Now, I have a rather unhealthy obsession with weeds. I hate them!
No one else in my family feels the same way.
For years the weed problem was in control because I’d laid plastic down and added mulch. I haven’t touched the plastic in a few years and last year, I paid for it.
I was always picking weeds.
“I need to redo the plastic,” I thought. Sam returned from mowing the lawn and I floated a balloon by him.
“How you feel about the weeds?”
“Love ‘em!” He said.
It was beautiful on Sunday morning. I grabbed a few rolls of plastic. Grabbed 20 bags of mulch.
“Easy enough.”
I’ve always been a good worker. I’ve always actually enjoyed it. I put on some tunes and got to work. About halfway through I thought:
“This isn’t going to be good.”
Too much bending. Too many moves. I sat, stood, bent, grunted, sweated, bled a little.
Couldn’t do any more.
I looked around:
“Much, much better.”
I am halfway around the yard as I write this.
I won’t finish it tomorrow or even the next day...
...because I can hardly stand up!
“How’d you do?” Kathy asked as I returned.
“I feel like I’m a hundred f****ng years old.”
We needed to get some work done.
Now, I have a rather unhealthy obsession with weeds. I hate them!
No one else in my family feels the same way.
For years the weed problem was in control because I’d laid plastic down and added mulch. I haven’t touched the plastic in a few years and last year, I paid for it.
I was always picking weeds.
“I need to redo the plastic,” I thought. Sam returned from mowing the lawn and I floated a balloon by him.
“How you feel about the weeds?”
“Love ‘em!” He said.
It was beautiful on Sunday morning. I grabbed a few rolls of plastic. Grabbed 20 bags of mulch.
“Easy enough.”
I’ve always been a good worker. I’ve always actually enjoyed it. I put on some tunes and got to work. About halfway through I thought:
“This isn’t going to be good.”
Too much bending. Too many moves. I sat, stood, bent, grunted, sweated, bled a little.
Couldn’t do any more.
I looked around:
“Much, much better.”
I am halfway around the yard as I write this.
I won’t finish it tomorrow or even the next day...
...because I can hardly stand up!
“How’d you do?” Kathy asked as I returned.
“I feel like I’m a hundred f****ng years old.”
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