My Imagination Runneth Overtime
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 b...