May 27, 2010
Farmer Wenchie
On Wednesday, we had a bunch of out-of-town guests at work for some super-important meeting of highfalutin brainiacs who will change the world and bring about universal peace and prosperity. Which means that I got to use my 146 I.Q. and other mad skillz to play hostess, waitress, maid and chauffer. My fav.
Luckily, my friend K pulled me back from the brink of mass murder by inviting me to attend a gala charity event that evening in the heart of our hometown. Imagine -- peon Wenchie rubbing shoulders with the rich and philanthropic! Plus, free cocktails! We ate our way through the community's finer establishments, picking up complimentary coupons and margaritas on the way.
A lovely ending to a craptacular day, but in total, I spent thirteen hours on my feet in painful grown-up shoes. My hips, knees and ankles let me know exactly how much they didn't appreciate that kind of abuse, and I woke up the next morning nearly crippled.
(Can I still say "crippled?" Because saying that "I woke up the next morning nearly differently-abled" just doesn't sound as funny. Or does it? Well, just pick whichever one sounds funnier to you. Wenchie's Multiple-Choice-Humor Blog! Next week: Paint-By-Number Porn!)
Getting to my point, I was already pretty stiff and achey and aged by Saturday morning, when it was time to do our annual Mom's-Birthday-Plus-Mother's-Day spring planting over at Mommie Dearest's palatial homestead.
Husband and I went to Home Depot early, where it took him an hour to pick out seven plants. Seven. That's about 8.6 minutes per plant. Plus, we had to pick up several bags of mulch and some fertilizer. Otherwise known as POO. I had to drive with poo in my car.
Reason Number Twelve Why I Hate Gardening: There is poo involved. On purpose.
And in case you're wondering:
Reasons One through Eleven Why I Hate Gardening
1. Dirt.
2. Sun.
3. Sweating.
4. Kneeling.
5. Digging.
6. Bending over.
7. Bugs.
8. Worms.
9. Squatting.
10. Weeds.
11. Sun hats.
This is why my house is so clean, especially in the summer. I'd rather be doing ANYTHING than gardening.
Moving on.
By the time we arrived at Mom and Dad's, Dad was awake and in the mood to take advantage of a kindness. Tears are forming in my eyes as I think of how I can break this to you. My darlings. Your queen, your goddess, your beloved Wenchie... had to dig bushes out of the ground.
I know. I know! Try to be strong, kittens. Be strong for Mommy! I'm still having heart palpatations. I need you to be the wind beneath my wings right now.
I had to dig dirt. With a shovel. Do you know how to get a root ball out of the ground? You have to, like, put the shovel in the ground near it and then jump on the shovel. With the neighbors watching! It was humiliating.
Once the ground was prepped for planting, Husband made me help him put the plants in the ground. You know what that means? I had to dig in the dirt with my hands. LIKE AN ANIMAL.
*sob* It was horrible. Horrible!
Now I know why people used to die at age 30. Because they couldn't stand up straight! So if they fell over, while plowing or weeding or harvesting, they'd just have to lie there. Like a turtle. Limbs flailing. Unable to get back up because their center of gravity was all screwed up with the hunching.
Clearly, it is a testament to my love for my Mother that I would garden for her, uncomplaining, in quiet dignity and grace.