The other night I decided to weed the jungle that is my flower bed. I worked up quite a sweat, I tell ya. In truth, I needed a machete just to hack down the Weed Trees that had taken root amongst my poor little petunias.
I was tugging on a particularly persistent weed when I encountered a problem… I bent over and heard a rip. And there was no doubt that my favorite gardening pants now bore a huge hole in the butt. You know your pants are one region short when you feel that tell-tale loosening and expansion of parts of you that should remain well clothed… The pleasant breeze in my posterior was also an alarming indication…
So I back up into my garage, cuz I’m afraid to turn my back toward the street, dump the weeds and tools, and rush inside. As I’m walking up the stairs, I ask Nathan if he’ll go outside and close the garage doors since my pants are holey. Little did I know, he’s on the phone with my sister, so I soon hear him yelling, “Gotta go, gotta go! We have an ass containment breach!!!”
He does have a way with words, doesn’t he?