A Hundred Freaking Years Old!

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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.”

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