Yes, the title of the post indicates the time of its writing, not the time of its reading. While you, Dear Readers, are perusing this post on what, I trust, is a fine Saturday, I wrote the post on Friday evening. Again, it's a time travel thing, sort of.
While The Missus Herself allowed me to layabout most of Friday (for I have that day off every other week) eventually I was called forth to do yard work. For it seems that last year the grubs got under the grass and managed to lay waste to vast swatches of the turf here at Chez Sarge. In past years the local skunk population kept the grub problem at bay by eating the little critters. Yes, it left small holes here and there but those were nearly indiscernible at a distance.
The big brown patches are obvious. No doubt they can be seen from space, if NASA were to direct their attentions in my direction. Or would that be the NSA these days? I know not, nor do I care who is watching me in the privacy of my backyard.
I wonder where all the skunks have gone. Perhaps they no longer care for the taste of the grubs here on the estate. Sad in a way. As long as you don't startle them, they are very much "live and let live" creatures. Definitely do not startle them.
Anyhoo. There are large patches of dead grass which needed to be reseeded. That is m'Lady's latest project. As I had agreed in the past to lift heavy things and the like, my services were called upon. Which I
At any rate, my services were only required for a few hours, whereas The Missus Herself had labored mightily for most of the day. When we were done with the day's labors I helped myself to an adult beverage (or three). Sips were offered, and taken, and the day wound down with a lovely sunset, as they often do in these parts.
Of course, I didn't get away scot-free...
"I've been out there, digging and seeding all day. And yet here you are celebrating. Explain thyself kind Sir." said the love of my life.
"Why dearest, I hoist this fine example of the brewer's art to celebrate the fine job you have done. It is to you I drink, my Dear." I offered.
"You're an idiot."
"Why yes dear, I do believe I am. Needless to say, I consider myself to be a very happy, and blessed idiot."
"Hhmm... There's leftover pot roast for dinner. Will that do?"
"Why yes, yes it will."
She spoils me.