Buck: Hypothetically, what would a 41 year old woman want for her birthday?
Me with an indignant expression on my face: I don't know. You'll have to ask someone who is 41. I'm only 40, and don't you forget it, buster.
Coincidentally and surprisingly, my birthday is coming up, and I don't know what to ask for. Suggestions anyone?
Pooh Bear urgently called me out to her fairy garden (which amounted to a bunch of dead flowers and lush green weeds, some ominously spikey) to show me she'd broken her flower necklace this afternoon. Walking outside into the lovely warm yard, I was inspired to drag out my loppers and prune the bushes gone wild beside the house. By the time I was finished chopping, my roommate from college might have said, "You've just snatched those bushes bald-headed". This improvement, of course, led to my utter dissatisfaction with the state of the terribly neglected and unkempt beds, so I weeded and raked out leaves as well. As a result of my compulsive nature, my main flower beds were ready for mulch before sundown.
Tomorrow I plan to weed the garden spot for my sugar snap peas. My garden lies in a horrible state after my abandonment in the heat and distraction of last summer.
Ahh, the life of a mundane blogger.
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