There's probably a high-faluting latin word for gardenphobia but that will do.
A beautiful autumn day........in the garden.
Pray for the plants I've just put in. They were so safe in their pots until I came along.
Water crystals, hole digging, watering, back filling (gardeny term that) and I managed to drop both of them.
I think I broke their necks.
I gave up after that and sat in the sun and cleaned the brass goblets and sprayed them so I'll never have to do it again.
Now I have to hide them again.
Who wants to be reminded of their 21st birthday when they're rapidly approaching the umpty-first?
Besides the ex gave them to me. Why did I marry someone who gave me a present that I would have to clean until the day I died?
8 comments:
Hortilepsy.
I think I'll call my next cat that.
It has a ring to it.
"There's probably a high-faluting latin word for gardenphobia..."
There's an English one. It's called 'Council Estater'.
Polishing brass gives meaning to your life. Besides, some plants were saved. Interested to know if they spray on stuff works. It is a long time since I had any brass to polish.
Fleetwood, around here it's called concrete.
HotAndrew, I refrain from the obvious and leave it to our Brian.
The spray on laquer works on brass and copper but turns silver very dull. I don't mind polishing the silver but the brass cleaner is hallucinagenic indoors.
If R is missing a garden, he can borrow mine anytime.
I haven't polished anything in years. Not even my nails....
I thought hortilepsy might have been the word that describes why we marry people that give us stuff we have to clean until we die.... but then, I'm known for often getting it completely wrong.
Also, I can send you a cat to call Hortiwhatsit if you want....
Roundup or boiling water is so much easier to kill your plants off, J :P
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