The Grass is Always Greener… When it’s Undead

Let’s pretend… you’ve lived at your current place of residence for like 7-ish years and someone you live with who-may-or-may-not-be-your-wife-or-me drives over the same pesky patch of grass at the end of the driveway consistently, like every. single. damned. time.

Would you bother planting more green stuff?

Let me answer that.

Hell no.

Anxiety over grass causes nothing but marital angst, bad juju and hot air wasted over dumb grass.

What’s meant to be… is meant to be.

The universe has spoken.

Let that particular patch of earth be grassless.

Not only does your bride of two decades have ADHD, she’s also got crappy middle-age vision and not a shred of give-a-shit left.

Just leave well enough alone, already.

It’s grass for fucks sake.

Correction- it WAS grass, and now it’s mud casserole decorated with Goodyear tracks.

Technically, the lawn is half mine… to do with what I please.

That said, fun lawn-use ideas came shooting out of my colorful brain for consideration.

What to do with my half?

*Plant a cocoa bean tree so I can gnaw on the bark when I get one of those really bad chocolate cravings or dry the leaves and smoke cocoa out of a bong.

*Construct a moped speedway for senior citizens.

*Host midget mud wrestling for people only 4 feet and under

*Open a pig washing business or a restaurant for goats and other hungry grass eating creatures.

*Install a bullseye sign on the naked earth where grass used to grow, and every time the car hits it confetti or grass seed pops out.

*Bury a bottle of emergency vodka for the zombie apocalypse.

*Use it as a burial ground for ThatGoddamnedCats unfortunate victims.

*Open an upscale spa specializing in mud baths for beautiful intelligent women and pigs.

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Admittedly, I’m pretty fond of grass mostly because it keeps mud off the dogs paws and hides their poop… so there’s that.

What to do?

Decisions…

I shall conclude this post with a nonfiction story called BestWifeEver.

Once upon a time… in an old country home in the woods of Pennsylvania, someone who lives with me who-I-may-or-may-not-be-married-to actually ** pay attention here ** disassembled my decorative split rail fence in the front yard and drove his big ass truck directly OVER and through my seasoned perennial garden to dump half a freaking ton of coal through the basement window.

And, he lives.

I shit you not.

Payback’s a bitch.

The lovely puddle of mud shall stay indefinitely.

The end.

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