Would You Care For A Mint Julep, Honey?

Well, the wife and I are looking over cheap-o houses right now, which is fun, but I do sense trouble ahead. I don't particularly want a yard (there are historically sound reasons for this), and I don't want to have to look after a yard. Having a pretty yard just isn't something that appeals to me.

Today Kimberly was checking out an online photo of a really nice, yet affordable-to-Swaits house in Hawthorne. She was chagrined to discover that the property the house stood on was small, so that there was no yard to speak of (this is an older home). I told her that was great, since neither one of us wanted to have to care for a lawn.

The "if I've told you once" look came over her face.

She reminded me that I am the one who doesn't want a yard, she definitely wants a yard, and that she'd be willing to look after it. Well, that's probably why I keep "forgetting" in my perfect masculine way. It's one thing for the beautiful wife to look after the garden. But who want the neighborhood to know that the wife mows the lawn and trims the hedges and rakes the leaves while you're sipping your Saturday lemonade? Not me, brotha.

It's like having your wife carry the groceries in the supermarket parking lot. I don't care if it's only two bags, it's embarassing to have you carrying the groceries and not me.


And lest any of you non-Floridians think I'm being wussy, let me just remind you that maintaining a lawn in Florida is like being married: you need to give constant, year-long care.