It's not about the house.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

(Insert Obligatory Monty Python Reference Here)

So, um...

Johnny started to finish painting the outside of the house. Sort of.

See, what he did is, he cut the shrubs down.

He told me he was going to cut the shrubs down, but I didn't know he was going to cut the shrubs down! He said I'm going to cut the shrubs down, and I said what do you mean, and he said you know because they brush up against the house, and I said didn't you do that already, and he said no --

And then he cut the shrubs down!

But, see, when he said he was going to cut the shrubs down, I didn't think he meant cut them down cut them down. I thought he meant trim the branches where they brush against the house. Which he did do already. Last fall. When he started to start to paint the house.

What did he think I meant when I said didn't you do that already? Did he think I meant had he already cut them down? Because, I mean, does he think I couldn't see them still being there?

At least they were still being there, until I came home from work and they were being in the driveway. Like a pair of giant, shrubby, tumbleweeds.

Well, they were being in the driveway. I may have accidentally hit them with the car.

Apparently bushes are the bane of an outside-house-painter's existence. Johnny doesn't paint outside that often, but when he does he's always tried unsuccessfully to talk the owners into cutting the bushes down. This time, though, he was the owner, so he was pretty easily convinced.

He left the boxwood, though. Because he likes it. So do I, but, um...


Oh, hell, I can't bring myself to give a shit. I don't give a shit about too much these days. Yesterday I was all "what if we have to sell the house tomorrow? Think about the curb appeal!" but today I'm all "So what?" If we do have to sell the house tomorrow, it wouldn't be very much like the two of us (or the AssVac, for that matter) to get anything approaching market price. And besides, those newly-open spots happen to be the only six square feet in the whole yard that get sun enough for flowers. So instead seeing a toothless, hillbilly smile when I look at my house, I'm seeing an empty place to plant those four-o'clocks. Stop Bitching And Get On With Life, is my new motto. I've got more important things to think about. Like, for example, Johnny offered to teach me to use the chainsaw.

And I've had my eye on that rhododendron in the back for years.


12ontheinside said...

Bloody men.
Make him cut the evil waxy thing down as punishment.

su said...

oh just give the Rhody a good haircut... after it blooms

pork luck said...

OH GOD! NOT THE CHAINSAW! I'll be at the pub with Johnny.

jen said...

Oh gosh! I had to read this out loud to my sister. We were rolling!

beardonaut said...

Good motto. And you should so learn to use a chainsaw. Then we can all dress up in plaid shirts and sing about pressing flowers and what not.

Hubert said...

The Rhododenron deserves to die. They are some kind of Lovecraftian Horror that will lurk upon your threshold forever. Waiting. Lurking. Seeking the moment when you are off guard. Then they will strike and have away with your sanity. Shuggoths in plant form. Qlippoths with red blooms.

I can give Health and Safety Lessons on chainsaws. Not very good Health and Safety. I mean, anybody who recommends destroying Rhododendrons for their Lovecraftian Menace rather than environmental impact is bound to be suspect when it comes to Health and Safety.

Keyboard, Absinthe: go.