Came home a little early to get the tomatoes, canteloupes and cukes into the ground. Brilliant day for it, sunny but not hot -- who's going to grudge me a couple of hours?
Did the work -- compost, mulch, water. Satisfied, I picked up my tools, dumped them into the wheelbarrow, humped the whole package to the shed. Inside, I was restoring the shovel to its customary place --
-- And stepped on the tines of a garden rake that leaned against the shed wall. Whack! the handle smacked me right across the eye. Glasses went flying, gloves, trowel and watering can hit the floor, and a single syllable of rage escaped my lips.
This is what we are reduced to, isn't it. You think it's pretty funny -- until it happens to you.
I can't tell yet if I'm going to get a shiner. The orbit of my right eye hurts pretty good. The floor of the shed is gravel, and I couldn't find my glasses for the longest time -- groping around on my hands and knees, muttering dark imprecations against an inanimate object that I myself had placed in ambush last week. Goddamned stupid rake.
Goddamned stupid gardener.
(Hey -- I can't remember who it was that suggested the Newspaper Method for keeping down weeds, but it's a peach. Reduced my workload enormously. Once I learned to put down four or five sheets instead of just one or two, not a single bit of unwanted vegetation dares to show its face.)
6 comments:
Th' trick is to have the environmental news facing the ground.
Sorry about your eye.
A roadrunner blew up a house I was in once and it fell down a 2 mile- chasm but I stepped out right before it hit the ground.
Life in Imitation of bad comedy?!
That sounds like the kind of pointy-headed pansy that'd turn up his nose at the Three Stooges! Don't go all sour on high-quality slapstick just because it's your beak that got bashed! The rest of us can scarce contain our mirth and merriment! (And I'm sure you would return the favor at first opportunity).
Geez, Jeddie. Will you be careful, already? You're really gonna hurt yourself soon.
Laughing. Out. Loud.
I'm sorry.
Hey, I think it was me on the weed suppression front. If not, it should have been.
Sorry about the slapstick.
Ned, We're not laughing at you. We're laughing next to you.
(And I'm sure you would return the favor at first opportunity).
Au contraire, frere! I'd rush over, solicitously asking about the pain, and offering a sympathetic kiss on the boo-boo.
Only then would I laugh my ass off.
Jeremy: I think it was you! My knees and shoulders thank you!
The rest of you clowns: Just you wait. It will happen to you!
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