I went out in my teeny backyard to do some weeding on the weekend. Although we finally have some sun now, it had been rainy for a few weeks prior, so the weeds were running rampant. Fortunately, I don’t have much in the way of flowerbeds, so it doesn’t usually take me more than an hour, but I’d really rather see the dirt than the weeds, so I put in the time to weed.
There are a couple of tall cedar trees and several fat rhododendron bushes in this flowerbed that borders two sides of my yard. Interestingly, I actually have no flowers there, just these plants – oh, and a heather plant and a rhubarb. I suppose I shouldn’t call it a flowerbed, should I?
Anyway, I was partly underneath one of the cedar trees, getting scratched to smithereens, yanking out moss and stuff. I was hidden from view because of the cedar tree and the rhodos. And then I heard that familiar, loathed sound.
Snick, snick, snick.
I peeked out from my hiding place and looked over at my neighbour’s yard. And what was going on there? It seemed that my neighbour’s elderly mother was visiting, and she was standing outside on the patio. She was clipping her fingernails.
Like mother, like son. Obviously.