Oh, Go Prune Yourself!

Another incident occurred during our days of Yard Work.

I do not really wish to share it, to confess my sins, but, I must.  I feel compelled to purge my demons onto you, my faithful readers.

It happened innocently enough.  I had the hedge trimmers and was cutting off some dead branches of the little mini-tree thing next to our front door.  Snip, snip.  It looked so much better! So I cut a little more.  And a little more.  I was like a woman possessed!  The clippers had a mind of their own! I was no longer in control of my actions as the trimmers edged up the side of the little tree - until - Harry caught me in mid-snip.

"What the hell are you doing!"  he yelled.

"Trimming."  I said, timidly.

"You've butchered it!"

"No, I haven't!"  I stood up and collected some of the branches from the ground. Then I started stuffing them back into the lopsided tree. "See?  All better!" 

"We'll have to take it out," he said, speaking like a surgeon to a future amputee.

"No."  I said.

"Yes."

"NO! And WHATEVER! I was ONLY trying to HELP!" I took off my gloves in a flurry of leather and cotton and flung them up in the air.  "FINE!"  I bellowed at him and picked up the jar of "Shake-n-Feed," "YOU do it!  YOU don't need my help!"  I tossed the jar at him and watched as the little green pellets soared through the air and landed like a rotten tambourine at his feet.

Then, tantrum having commenced in plain view of all our "normal" neighbors, I turned, pouted and stomped past the lopsided tree and into the house, slamming the door for emphasis.

"Hey!" Harry came in a few minutes later to find me, red-faced and fuming sitting at the kitchen table.  I expect him to chew me out.  To tell me I was being a brat and a princess and to get my ass back out in the yard to help.  Instead he pats my head and says "Wanna go to Lowe's?"

I love my husband almost as much as I hate Yard Work!