Alas, I started dating RB in December, during a particularly rainy season when my front porch almost washed down the short slope to the street.
He jumped in with both feet, getting the cement truck, Bobcat, and a truckload of sand. Visions of yard grandeur were already dancing in his head.
Oh, sure, it seemed innocent enough when he applied fertilizer, then programmed the sprinklers. I vaguely remember conversations of centipede and bermuda, as he spread grass seed, some sod, then weed killer for good measure. He'd spend one day a week mowing, weed eating, edging, and blowing debris. Yeah, it looks great, sweetie.
Now, however, that we're not together, I have to pull out that lawn mower, and traverse this lush green paradise as the temperature hits 102°F. Bonus? The fact that I gained 20 pounds when we were together (eating out, BBQ, grey goose) means I have even more sweaty bulk to haul around.
I don't want to sound ungrateful, but it's only June. Next year's forecast is calling for weeds.