This post could also be titled:
- The day after I accidentally gave away the scooter.
- The day the slacker landscaper didn’t show up, so I had to mow and weed wack a front and backyard by myself
- The day I bought a new fabulous amazing weed wacker after spending 2 hours using a faulty tool
- The day I bought a weed wacker and the first thing I wacked was the back of my leg (Be careful out there folks)
- The day I didn’t wear thick enough gloves to weed wack a jungle
- The day — did I mention this already? — I weed wacked A LOT
- The day I weed wacked a backyard after paying two men to haul away a ton of nonsense, only to find a pile of new nonsense under the weeds — including, I kid you not, an actual sink. So when I say I found everything including the kitchen sink? Well. Don’t call me exaggeratory.
- The day I refused to give up. Landscaper doesn’t show? Fine. Weed wacker doesn’t work? FINE. GET OUT OF MY WAY MESSY YARD.
- The day I learned how completely cathartic weed wacking is.
Is “weed wacked” even a thing? Or am I JUST WACKED? I need a drink. Can you tell?
The final reveal — old vs. new yards and a landscaping gift completed:
The viewpoint here is a little wonky. It’s from the kitchen sink, in the kitchen. Those weeds are about waist-high.
And the after:
And no, to find a class of wine. And possibly a Band-Aid. And hey, if anyone’s seen that scooter or my common sense, I’ll take those too.