Brass balls

This morning, I planted a pink butterfly bush, a white bleeding heart, six blue double columbines, six blue creeping phlox and thirty-six gladiolus bulbs. Then I spent the afternoon getting out trellises and shepherd's hooks and re-connecting garden hoses and turning the outside water on. Josh & Amy came over, and Josh cut the grass while Amy & I chatted.

This evening, I was sitting on the breezeway enjoying the look of the yard, the scent of new-mown grass and the sound of my fountain, when one of my neighbors stopped by. I've given up caring if anyone catches me in my grubbies--all the vital bits were covered, and if he doesn't understand what a Sunday working in the yard is like, pffft.

Anyway, turns out Dave, who lives two doors down, is on a mission to convince the next three houses down (including me) to sell our properties to a real estate agent for a strip mall.

Erm, no. Not only no but Hell NO. I love this house. I told him how I dreamed of this house for years before I was able to buy it, and I've put hours of sweat equity into it, plus money for renovations and flowers. Then he asked if he could have the chestnuts from the tree at the back of the yard.

I really don't handle that kind of cheekiness well. I said yes, providing he left some for the groundhog, when what I wanted to say was "Bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me Mr. Brass-Balled Man."

*sigh*

Not selling my house, though. Nope.