Recently Wifey and I said goodbye to some good friends that moved to Mt. Pleasant at the same time we did back in 2010. Wifey worked with the woman and we hung out with her and her husband a lot over the past five years, especially since they lived just a couple blocks from us. Anyway, they moved to Florida, leaving us to deal with the long Michigan winters on our own now. In the moving process they ditched us with generously gave us a bunch of stuff they didn’t want/couldn’t take with them: Adirondack chairs, a snowblower, hundreds of pounds of salt (to melt ice), a kick ass drum kit (it’s very therapeutic to belt out a Neil Pert like solo once a day) and a ton of potted vegetable plants. There were tomatoes, red and green bell peppers, banana peppers and jalapenos.
As the summer heated up we started getting a bountiful harvest of vegetables that we had pretty much nothing to do with other than watering now and then. I have to say it was pretty awesome to walk out onto the back porch and pick some jalepenos as I made up a batch of white trash Mexican food.
The plants are now pretty much done for the season so one of the chores that Wifey lined up for me to do today was to ditch the plants and get all the pots put away for the season. A chore that I gleefully accepted after Wifey indicated that seeing me do even the most trivial of home improvements “works” for her.
So I set about pulling the plants, and hauling the soiled filled pots two and three at a time to the garage. On my third or fourth top-heavy trip tiptoeing through the yard avoiding the many piles of stinky land mines courtesy of Jake (the dog), I tripped over something (my own two feet) and started to lose my balance. I stumbled forward trying to maintain my balance but it was not to be. I was gaining speed and getting closer and closer to the ground, praying that my impact would NOT be softened by one of the several piles of shit that I neglected to clean up since I last mowed the lawn.
I hit the ground hard, tumbled over the two large, soil filled pots I was carrying and slid face first to a stop.
I escaped injury, but more importantly SOMEHOW avoided having to hose dog shit off of my face, shirt or body. As I brushed the dark black planting soil off myself there was nothing I could do but laugh about it, because I KNEW if I saw someone do I what I just did, I would probably piss myself laughing.
There were still four or more five pots to haul into the garage, but first I thought it would be wise to just go ahead and clean up all that “dog dirt” as they often call it in my homeland of western Pennsylvania.
For the record, it seems that cleaning the porch, hauling fifteen pots of soil, cleaning up the yard of dog poo, mowing the grass, hanging a blind in the bedroom, taking out the trash, and even making her one of her favorite pasta dished for dinner, does NOT actually “work” for Wifey. It seems she knew all along that I am simple-minded enough to fall for veiled promises of “crime fighting.” Sadly, we all know that I will be dumb enough to fall for such a ploy again… I just hope that I don’t have to LITERALLY fall again in the process.
Need any tomatoes?
Later.