Monday, October 14, 2013

Monster patches, those sexy beasts...

So it's that time of year—the time of year when the conspicuous presence of giant brown yard waste bags lining my street reminds me that my neighbours are far more savvy when it comes to reading the township's waste collection calendar, I'd better get my butt in gear and clear out our gardens.

(And no, my local would-be horticultural expert did not appear as I hacked away at my gardens "willy nilly" as she would say. Disappointing, as I was kind of looking forward to blogging about another eye-rolling encounter with her.)

Anyhow. We still have construction going on—the guys are now paving driveways and installing sod—my lord, we might look like a finished neighbourhood before the snow flies!—and as I'm puttering away with my clippers I can feel their eyes on me.

Not in a creepy way—okay, it was a bit creepy, but only because when I wave (I'm friendly like that) only about half of the guys return the nicety... so that's a little creepy, since I've clearly caught them staring and they're lacking the social skills to brush it off... unless their goal is to make me creeped out, in which case good form, gentlemen, your sociopathic endeavors have been successful...


Monster patches: construction guys find them sexy. Truth.

I'm going to pretend the stares are because they're oh so enamoured of the kickass monster knee patch on my craptacular old jeans I wear for yard work, and not, you know, because I'm female and bending over my front gardens at the waist, tuchus in the air, because I've inherited the rump-ups gene from my mother's side.

 Erm... yeah... I might need to get Mr Lannis to weigh in on this one...

No comments:

Post a Comment