Tall, Tall Weeds; or, Just Can't Cut It

I have totally lost track, but I think it's been about a month since I mowed our lawn. No joke. I cut it one day, looked real nice, and then it rained for about a week. Since our backyard holds water, I had to wait for it to dry. But before it did, it started raining again, and again. And I had craziness at work with my new beat.

It got to the point where I knew there was no way my little push-mower could handle the tall, thick grass in the back. So I had a guy all set to come out early this week to cut it. And of course, it rains. Thanks, Gustav.

So we've got cattails growing in the front yard, whilst my neighbors have their lawns neatly trimmed. We're white-trashin' it, much to the neighborhood association's chagrin, I'm sure.

Heck, I might as well go all the way with this. Think I'll find an old lawn chair, plop down in it in front of our weed-infested flower bed, and sit out there in my gym shorts and no shirt, with a root beer in my hand (I'm going for effect here, so such props are allowed). I need some cinder blocks to put under my Honda, and a pink flamingo (which they're not making anymore). Drew can run around in his underwear, and Rachel can wear a tight tank top, blue jean cutoffs and mismatched slippers.

Well, maybe not. My wife is gonna kill me for posting this, though.