Home sweet home... the bathroom is gorgeous. It's out back...
It was about as fun as having someone gouge out my eyes with a rusty spork.
Anyway, we survived the process and became proud owners of a little arts and crafts style house with awesome molding, a wraparound porch and a lovely, but big**, backyard. While I love everything about our little abode, I was less than thrilled at having a piece of land that required me to do more than just stare at it.
I am not a garden person. I hate weeding with a fucking passion and flowers attract bees, which scare the ever loving fuck out of me. I almost got hit by a car running away from bee because I was too busy flailing around like a mental patient and screaming.
I totally pooped my pants looking at this
In the end I embraced the backyard, especially when ML and I planted a cute little vegetable garden last summer. It’s no joke taking care of a garden but I figured between me and ML, we’d do just fine.
Immediately after the plants went into the ground, ML went on tour for a month. Does anyone else see a pattern here?
Regardless, I dutifully went out there every single day and weeded and watered and all that shit, telling myself it’ll all be worth it when our vegetables finally produce and I can eat yummy salads and enjoy the fruits of my labor.
This did not happen. The day I went out to harvest all our vegetables, I noticed the flimsy plastic fencing was looking a little squashed. There were no veggies left inside, only a few chewed-up tomato stalks and a shit load of deer hoof prints.
Wrong. Evil deer wasn't watching me masturbate because she was too busy eating my fucking vegetables. Also, learn how to spell masturbate, fuckhead.
Let’s just say I didn’t react well and I’m pretty sure the next door neighbor’s kid learned a few fancy swear words that day.
Fast forward to this year. ML has been working tirelessly to build a Fort Knox structure to put our precious veggies in. Metal fencing, a retaining wall. Hell, there’s even a fucking perimeter that separates the fence from the vegetables, so unless we have giraffes, nothing is getting in there. The deer must be quaking in their hooves.
Or not. The other day I got a text message picture from ML while I was at work. He stayed home to finish the deer proof fence and begin to plant our veggies. He went inside for five minutes to get a glass of water and happened to look out the window when he saw this:
Looks like someone's waiting for the all-you-can-eat buffet to open...
It’s war, mother fuckers. And we have opposable thumbs and a possibly a slingshot. Okay, we're not resorting to violence. Yet.
** I should point out that our yard is big by the standards of our town and not by, say, someone who lives in Maine or Colorado and probably has a backyard the size of our county or something.