Well, I'm still waiting for my response from the Fiskars people. They sure take their time. Or perhaps they're just having a difficult time finding a therapist who's willing to take me on as a patient.
Either way, I've already got a list of chores for my
naked sweaty, shirtless garden boy named Jorge. And a chilled mojito in the fridge for me. I come prepared.
Speaking of which, my blood pressure must have gone sky high yesterday as I pulled out of my driveway and saw a truck in front of the house with the words Harry & Hedges, Lawn Maintenance across its side. Jorge had arrived, I thought. And here I was, in the midst of a heat stroke, sweat pouring down my forehead and into my eyes, a drenched puddle of perspiration pooling into my bra cups, looking my best. NOT.
Obviously, I was wrong. Harry was at the neighbours', and I saw neither muscular arms nor barely-clothed nethers. Story of my life.
I'm expecting an answer from Fiskars today. And a garden boy soon thereafter.
I'm nothing if I'm not entirely optimistic, and extremely naive.
My next post will be about my New York City trip. I promise. I know, I've said that before, and here I am, still talking about Jorge and stupid weed pullers that apparently don't work properly. But there are times in this life, my friends, when priorities must be set. And when it's between New York City thrills and Jorge, the garden boy, well...must I explain?