28 September 2011

The worst

“The worst what, Sarah? The worst project? The worst before and after? The worst blog post? The absolute worst household chore ever in the history of time?”

Answer: All of the above.

I’ve stated before that I am not an outdoorsy person. And that if I gave you my address and to look up our home on Google Street View, my landscaping would demonstrate just how much I am NOT an outdoorsy person. Basically doing anything, anything at all to our landscaping besides letting it become horribly overgrown is something I hate with the fire of ten thousand burning suns.

You know, that might be because the last time I personally operated my electric hedge trimmers to cut down my crazily overgrown shrubs, I hedge-trimmered my own hand and had to drive myself to the emergency room. YES REALLY. But first I spattered blood all over my house while grabbing things to drive to the ER and then once I was there I had to get stitches and I think I actually was doing relatively well keeping myself together until the doctor said “The good news is that I don’t think there is enough nerve damage that you will need physical therapy” and then I basically lost it because I very nearly destroyed my hand from gardening. So yeah. I don’t do landscaping.

Mr. P, however, does a fine job keeping the lawn mowed, and keeping the hedges relatively cut down (needless to say, I do not touch the hedge trimmers anymore). But he doesn’t have a super-discerning eye for the aesthetics of landscaping, and I do, but I don’t care to do anything about it. So our landscaping can get... well...


I am ashamed to say that was part of our flower bed. In the FRONT of the house. Like where all our neighbors could see it and lament the decrease of their property value because of that girl that puts the letter P on their mailbox and doormat and front door and it's a small wonder there's not a P mowed into the grass.

In his defense, Mr. P suggested we do something about it, but his idea was to cut it all down. I said “Nooo there are irises in there,” because intentionally cutting down fairly healthy flowers seemed like a very bad thing that only incredibly horrible people would do, like kicking a baby in the kidneys or something.

“There are weeds all around them, though,” he said.

“Then we’ll pull just the weeds!” I said. For months. Then proceeded to not pull the weeds, for months.


Until last weekend. Which was rather poor planning, actually, because I have barely been home for the entire month because of family circumstances, and if I was going to be home the last thing I wanted to do was landscaping. But the hedges were officially out of control, and I asked Mr. P to do something about them before we left town again, which meant he needed me out there to supervise the trimming of the hedges into spheres and cubes and not, say, shapeless blobs. And then once he made the hedges look nice, the grass-iris-weed monster looked even more awful in comparison. So I finally decided to do something about it.

The better part of an hour later I had this:


Nice, right? At least nicer? Except it was actually this:


It took over an hour to get rid of the whole awful mess. Which meant I wasn’t going to spend any more time out there, as I’d also weeded around the mailbox and cleaned up the hedge trimmings with Mr. P, and I was getting mosquito bites and the start of a sunburn which meant I was becoming intolerably whiny. I even uncovered an earthworm while trying to replant an iris bulb that was either attempting suicide or had decided that it was going to uproot itself and travel to a yard that was owned by someone who didn’t avoid gardening out of an irrational fear of earthworms.

And then, just because landscaping is that awful, I was groaning like an ninety-year-old lady for days later from the soreness.

Worst before and after, indeed.


I propose that our next yard be landscaped with pavement.

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